Beyond the Stars
by CSIGurlie07
Summary: They came from two different worlds. To find each other, they only had to look beyond the stars. A Sam/Jack AU. NOW COMPLETE!
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: It's an AU. That should be clue enough. Now, just keep in mind that I've taken some liberties as to the matter of engine mechanics (as I clearly have no experience in autoshop), and we'll be good to go. As always with my new fics, first review gets their choice of update days. The story is complete, and will be updated once a week until it's entirely posted._

_Enjoy!  
_

* * *

Jack never thought he'd be here.

When he'd put his name on the dotted line, sworn himself to defend the nation against all dangers foreign and domestic, he never would have guessed that he'd be benched with a torn ACL barely out of job training. And he certainly never could have conceived of the possibility of him riding a lawn mower all day as he waited for himself to heal.

He'd earned his injury in an awkward stage of his career—if he dare yet call it a career. The injury was severe enough that the doctors were on the fence on whether he'd ever be able to return to full duty, but the real kicker had come when he'd been told there was no place for him. He'd barely managed to complete his MOS school, but the injury had come before he'd received his transfer. He was an airman without an assignment, and he wouldn't receive one until he healed.

Which was he was now riding a John Deere on a daily basis, cutting lawn after lawn on one of the most prestigious private schools in the country. He hated it. Washington DC was hot, a far cry from the wooded coolness of a Minnesotan spring. And from his barely-passing public school experience, the prim uniforms and haughty students who went about their days like he didn't exist rubbed him the wrong way.

The kids had parents with more money and power than God, and there was no doubt the kids knew it. All day he heard snippets of conversations, of who'd been bought what, which car was totaled this week, and where the hottest parties of the month were. They were entitled, stuck up Richie Riches who wouldn't know character if it bit them in the ass.

He should have been grateful for the VA finding him this job. It was easy, paid well, and was transient enough that he would have no qualms ditching it the moment his knee healed. But between the rotten students who sneered at his blue collar tan and the nagging doubt that maybe his knee won't ever be the way it was, his thoughts remained full of misgivings.

As if the damn thing could hear Jack's dour sentiments, the mower's engine chose that moment to sputter and die. Biting his lip against a flood of curses, he turned the key once, then again when nothing happened. It was dead in the water.

He slammed a hand against the steering wheel and rose unsteadily to his feet. His knee only offered a small twinge of protest as he climbed down, which he counted as a mild blessing. There were some days where it simply refused to take his weight.

He spent ten minutes under the hood, searching for the obvious culprits. He'd filled the gas tank that morning, the spark plugs looked clear, and nothing seemed busted or loose. Battery checked out too. He was at a loss, and he used his aggravating puzzle to ignore the occasional calls that drifted his way through the thick, muggy air.

Words like "Aren't hicks supposed to know how a tractor works?" and "They really are letting their hiring standards slip around here, aren't they?" leeched into his peripheral awareness, each syllable grating on his nerves until his teeth ground together with the effort to remain focused on his task. He didn't dare make eye contact. One look at them would be enough to get him swinging, propriety be damned.

"Need some help?"

The voice came much closer than the others, almost over his shoulder, and startled him into letting the wrench slip, scraping his knuckles across the sharp edge of the carburetor.

"Goddammit!" Jack barked, tossing the wrench aside before whipping around to face the offending voice. The speaker didn't react to his violent turn, but her bodyguards sure did. They took a menacing step forward, their shaded eyes locked on him as their hands hovered over their firearms.

Jack fought the urge to roll his eyes—a twelve year old with bodyguards. It was ludicrous, despite the school's emphasis on security. The campus had its own security forces, but dozens of the students had their own guards. Sickening.

"You got a problem?" Jack took a step back though, to communicate that he wasn't a threat. He wasn't stupid. And taking that step back, he realized his tormentor was not a twelve year old. No, the speaker was much—more.

She was all leg, a touch of knobby-kneed youth lingering despite their length. A quick perusal revealed a shapeless pleated skirt and blazer—the prep school's uniform—but Jack found a pair of sharp blue eyes staring back at him from above high cheek bones, pegging him with an intense gaze. But even as his mind caught up with him, her regard grew haughty in his eyes.

"I only asked if you needed help," she returned, undaunted by his ire. The girl's voice was rich, with a dry edge that told him she was less than impressed by his reaction. "Yes or no would suffice."

Jack blinked. _What?_ "No!"

A shrug. "Fine."

The girl turned and walked back across the quad, meeting her guardians on the pebbled causeway. She led the small procession of three away from the stranded Deere and off towards the grey stone buildings standing sentinel over the heart of the campus.

Jack watched her go, his eyes catching on the blonde braid that glinted down her back. One of the hulking shadows lifted his wrist to his mouth, no doubt reporting the all clear to whomever they had stationed in the periphery. With a muttered curse, Jack turned back to the engine, mouth twisted into a scowl.

He couldn't wait to get back on active duty.

* * *

Six hours later, he was still working on it. Beyond one false start around noon, he'd made no progress. His only remaining option would be to push the damn thing back to the shed, but there was no way in hell that was happening with his knee the way it was. Just the trek back to the shed to get a toolbox had just about killed him.

He swiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his arm, heaving a sigh as he squinted against the setting sun. Then, he turned the key, and his sigh turned to an obscenity when he was rewarded by a grinding whine from the engine bloc.

"It's the cam shaft."

Jack jerked back, whirling around at the sound of a calling voice. He lifted his hand against the sun, peering at the silhouette standing on the nearest path. He'd thought all the students had gone home. "What?"

The figure stepped closer, into the shadows, and suddenly the silhouette was a familiar sight. "You hear that grinding noise? Sounds like the pin's slipping." It was that damn girl again, all leg with gold hair. In the sunset she seemed softer, though, her dry edges unfocused to the point she was actually… kind of… hot.

She looked to be sixteen or so, her book bag heavy against her shoulder. Her goons still stood watch, resolute and intimidating in their dark jackets and shades. Jack straightened slightly, his arm resting on the popped hood of the tractor. "I didn't say I wanted your help."

The same shrug from before lifted her grey clad shoulder. "I figured just giving you the information would be easier on your masculine sensibilities than asking again." Her brow arched, lending her blue eyes a lilting smirk. "I could just fix it for you, but you'd probably take that even worse."

"You telling me that you know engines, Little Miss Prim?" Jack's voice took on a vicious bite. "Your chauffer teach you how your limo works?"

"Of course," came the smooth reply. "My silver spoon came with pistons and a gear shaft. How about you?"

Jack blinked. She'd mimicked his sharp tone with expert precision, down to the razor's edge of sarcasm. "All right then," he said finally. "Prove it."

The twinkle in her eyes told him that his dare didn't fool her in the slightest. He had no chance of getting the tractor fixed himself before dawn. He was saving face, and she knew it.

The girl stepped forward without hesitation, and Jack watched her bodyguards tense and shift in readiness, anticipating his inevitable step towards her. But Jack stayed where he was, waiting as she stuck her blonde head under the hood. She peered into the block for a few long moments, turning her head this way and that, then called for a five-eighths wrench.

When it was not forthcoming, she shifted impatiently, glaring at him with her head still awkwardly tilted between the hood and the engine.

"You didn't say please," Jack informed her, smirking.

"I'm the one helping _you_, you know," she returned.

Jack shrugged. "I didn't ask for the help. You supplied it out of the goodness of your heart. Doesn't mean you have to forget your manners."

Blue eyes rolled in exasperation. "May I please have the wrench?" she huffed.

Jack handed it over with a grin. Another eye roll and then she turned her attention back to the task. He didn't miss the curt _thank you_ that drifted back up to him.

Several wrenches exchanged hands in the minutes that ticked by, pitching them amongst the growing shadows as the sun dipped lower behind the horizon. She continued her _please_s and _thank you_s without his prompting, and slowly he relaxed. He held onto her uniform blazer when she shrugged out of it, and when one of the escorts tossed him a flashlight he held the beam steady as she continued to work.

Finally, as the stars were just peeking out through the smog, she pulled back, wiping the back of her hand across her brow—a movement not unlike the one he'd made earlier that morning. They were both sweating now, but Jack barely noticed in the growing cool breeze of the DC evening.

"Try it now," she instructed. The words weren't bossy, but rather distracted, as though her thoughts were still inside the engine compartment.

Jack obeyed without comment. His wrist turned sharply, the key firmly between his fingers. For a gut-dropping moment the engine coughed, then caught with a satisfying grumble.

Letting it idle, Jack rocked back on his heels, sliding his gaze back to his unexpected knight in shining private school uniform. "I'm impressed."

And he was. Not that a girl could know engines better than he, but that any student at this crème de la crème institution knew anything about mechanics besides how to crash their sports cars.

"I've exceeded your wildest expectations," she returned with wry smirk. "My day is now complete." She reached out, her fingers brushing his as she retrieved her blazer. "The fix is probably only temporary, but it should be enough to get it back to the groundskeeper's shed."

Jack nodded his thanks, though whether she saw the motion in the growing shadows was anyone's guess. She slung her bag over her shoulder then turned to leave.

"Wait!" She turned back, but didn't move any closer. He tossed the flashlight back to her, which she caught deftly. "Sorry about earlier."

She smiled again, and this time it was almost polite. "I'm sure I'll survive." She paused. "You're forgiven."

"My name's Jack. O'Neill. Two L's." He leaned against the Deere, getting his weight off his now aching knee. "I guess I'll see you around, huh?"

The smile grew, gleaming in the dark. "Well, Jack… O'Neill, two L's. Considering your sudden knack for breaking down in the most conspicuous quads on campus, and the fact that I'm a student here…" She shrugged. "I don't think we could avoid each other if we tried."

There was a hint of a flirt beneath the sarcasm, but before he could act on it she was moving again. A beat, and then, "Hey! What's your name?"

She stopped short, her gaze freezing dead ahead as though stunned. Jack waited, and watched as her head then turned to regard him from over her shoulder. There was a long silence as dark eyes examined him, searching for… Something. Jack wasn't sure what.

Then those lips smiled again, minutely.

"Sam," she said finally. "My name's Sam."


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: Just a reminder- anyone who wants a reply to a review has to make sure that the review is signed with an FF author page, and they have to have their PM feature enabled. :) I'm so glad to see some returning readers. Hopefully you'll enjoy this as much Strangers._

_Also, the update day for this story is going to be Wednesday. Which means that I'm going to make sure that I post a new chapter right before I go to bed on Tuesday, so that it can be up and accessible first thing in the morning. And here is the first official update. Now you guys have to wait for a full week! Gah!_

_Enjoy!  
_

* * *

Turned out she was right. They saw each other several times after that. Okay… more than several.

At first, it was her unknowingly catching his eye, as the only student on campus he now recognized. But then, so subtly he almost didn't realize it, he began looking for her whenever the bell rang to signal the end of class. Those first few times, it was him doing the looking, while her own gaze remained distracted.

Something about the way she moved set her apart from the bourgeois mentality that seemed to plague the majority of her classmates. She had the same proud shoulders, the same loftiness to her gait, but where others' seemed like forced affectations, hers were natural, so ingrained that she retained her grace even while her mind was clearly a million miles away. To himself, he mused that it was a good thing she had those two guards with her, if only to make sure she didn't walk into a tree or something.

But then, that inevitable moment came when she caught him looking. She'd stopped dead in her tracks, her eyes wide and impossibly blue. He thought she might march over and give him hell for leering, but in the end she simply smiled, a small little upturn of her lips that acknowledged his attention, while a muted nod offered a greeting. He nodded back, and that was that. She went on her way, and he didn't see her again that afternoon.

After that moment though, he began to notice the way her gaze swept the campus as soon as she left a building, or rounded a corner. His acute awareness of her suddenly seemed to be reciprocated, as she started to pay closer attention to her surroundings. Her gaze was certainly less distracted when it met his, more and more regularly. And he was always waiting to acknowledge her with their customary nod.

He didn't care that she never left the tidy pathways to come greet him more personally. It was possible she was ashamed to be seen with him, but at the same time, it was possible she didn't want to bring any unwanted attention to herself, or to him. He could only imagine what the more antagonizing of the students would do if he actually registered on their radar. Passing taunts were one thing, but having to ignore a strategic assault would fray the last of his nerves and no doubt get him court-martialed.

Either way, all he knew was that he'd slowly come to realize that those nods—and the infrequent, tight-lipped smile— had made the mind-numbing agony of his job easier to bear.

Which was why, a few weeks before the end of the school term, the hulking figure that stepped into the tool shed registered as a surprise, but not an unwelcome one. Shaded eyes scanned the interior of the cramped shed, searching for threats both hidden and overt. Jack let him do his job, pausing in his own task of scraping rust off a pair of shears that were, he believed whole-heartedly, as old as he was.

"We're clear," the man muttered into his wrist. On cue, Sam stepped into view, her second escort trailing a few steps behind. Jack got to his feet, wiping his hands clean on a rag, a smile stealing across his features.

"Sam," he greeted. She blinked once, as though surprised he remembered her name. Or maybe it was that he seemed eager to see her, which—he admitted to himself—he was. "How are you?"

One corner of her mouth lifted into a bemused grin. "Fine, thanks. And you?"

He shrugged. "Oh, you know." Her brow lifted, but she didn't say anything. "Is there something I can help you with?"

"What?" Her eyes widened with realization, and immediately started to wave him off. "Oh, no! No. I just—"

She paused then, visibly taking a moment to start over. "Do you like coffee?"

Jack's eyebrow hiked up a notch. "It's all right," he returned drolly. "Too much makes me jittery, of course, but a cup won't kill me." He eyed her curiously. "Why?"

"There's a café on campus that's pretty good," she informed him, linking her hands in front of her. The stiffness in her posture made him think she was nervous for some reason, but her eyes remained on him, never faltering. "Would you like to meet me there this evening? I have class until five today, but afterwards—"

"Five would be all right," he interrupted. "It'd give me a chance to finish my shift anyway." He'd gotten lucky, because he had the sneaking suspicion he would have accepted her offer regardless of when his shift was supposed to end. "But if its good coffee you're looking for, there's a place out in town you might like—"

"I'd prefer the one on campus," she cut in gently, ducking her chin shyly. A moment later she looked up at him through her bangs. "At least for tonight."

Jack paused thoughtfully for a moment, but in the end he simply shrugged. "All right." He glanced at himself. "You mind if I show up like this? My good suit's in storage."

That earned him a light chuckle. "I don't mind. You'll get stares, but you'd get them no matter what you're wearing, so…"

Jack blinked, unsure of how to take the quip. Was it meant to be a compliment—testifying to his irresistible good looks—or was it supposed to be a slur, in that he would be the first employee to visit the campus haunt as a patron? Or was it just a statement of fact, acknowledging the curiosity of human nature?

With an internal groan, he let it go, deciding it wasn't worth the brain power. "All right then," he agreed. "5 o'clock, as is."

The smile that answered him was nearly blinding. The first honest smile he'd gotten out of her to date was broad and brilliant, her eyes crinkled with a delight that made her eyes sparkle. Jack saw the slightest trace of a dimple of her left cheek, and felt himself smiling in return.

"Great!" she chirped. There was a pause then, her lips parted as though she was on the verge of saying something. When nothing came out, her cheeks flushed, and her chin dipped again, hiding her eyes from him. Jack tried not to feel a shadow of disappointment steal over him at the smile's sudden disappearance.

Before he could try to salvage the conversation, another voice filled the void.

"You wanted to visit your professor before class," the male bodyguard delivered simply, his voice a gravelly monotone.

"Right," Sam said, her voice suddenly crisp with remembrance. "I'd almost forgotten. Thank you, Geordie." She glanced back towards Jack. "All right, then. I'll see you tonight?"

Jack nodded, leaning against the nearest rack. "Yeah, sure, you betcha." He grinned. "5 o'clock."

He received one last shy smile in return, and then she was gone, leaving no trace of her visit besides the flutter of butterflies that had suddenly taken up residence in Jack's gut. For several long moments, he simply stared at the empty space she'd vacated, wondering if it had really happened.

Blinking once, twice, then giving a low whistle of warning, he settled back down to work, shaking his head at himself.

"You'd better be careful with that one, O'Neill… That one's dangerous."

But despite his knowing better, he couldn't help but think that maybe he could do with a bit of danger.

* * *

Five o'clock found him standing in front of the designated café, his hands and face freshly scrubbed, though his clothes remained splotched with dirt and sweat. Under the disdainful stares he was acutely aware of the grime still staining the underneath of his fingernails, and the shaggy spikes his hair had become during the course of the day.

But he ignored them, searching the view in front of him for a familiar blonde head. He spotted her at five minutes past the hour, and this time she wasn't alone. She was conversing with another student, a short brunette who looked like she had more than enough attitude to make up for her stature. In the moments it took them to reach him, Jack worried that what he'd assumed was a one-on-one had actually been meant to be a blind date, or worse—a friendly group get-together.

But the brunette broke away before they stepped under the café's overhang—though not before she had given Jack the once over, and elbowing Sam her approval. She left Sam and her entourage to close the distance to him alone. Pink lips curled into a smile as blue eyes settled on him, and Jack had to scold himself for wishing it was as luminous as her previous one had been.

"Hi," she greeted warmly, hitching her bag a little higher onto her shoulder.

"Evening," he responded. He nodded towards the bag, reaching for it. "May I?"

Her fingers closed on the strap, keeping it firmly where it was. "Thanks, but no thanks." A moment later, she realized how curt she sounded, and she offered an expression that was part grimace, part apology.

"I appreciate the offer," she elaborated, "but holding onto it myself saves me a bag search later tonight."

Jack blinked. _Seriously?_ A shrug. "Okay." He pulled open the door, then waited for her to enter. "Shall we?"

A bodyguard entered first— Geordie, if Jack remembered correctly— and when nothing exploded or spawned a full-fledged riot, Sam followed. Jack glanced at the second guard, ready to hold the door for her too, but she nodded him inside. He moved into line behind Sam, trying to keep as proper a distance as possible in the closely packed line. His attempts at casual conversation failed to keep him from noticing that her hair smelled like honeysuckle.

When they'd bother ordered, he reached into his wallet to pay. Sam opened her mouth to protest, but he headed her off. "I know, you invited me, but my mother raised me right—"

"Actually," she cut in, trying not to smirk, "it's no charge." She flashed her student ID to the barista, who nodded and then moved on to the next customer. "Just have to prove I'm not an interloper." A thin shoulder lifted in a shrug. "One of the benefits of a fifty grand tuition bill each year."

Jack's jaw worked for a second, before he was able to swallow his pride and tuck the ten spot back into his billfold. His gaze locked on her when she laughed softly at his reaction. "No giggling," he informed her with a stern glare, to which she responded with an irreverent crinkle of her nose.

They found a table to sit at, and she settled in the chair across from him, smoothing her pleated skirt over her knees. "Now I get why you wanted to come here," he observed.

"That," she agreed softly, "and it's familiar. It's… safe."

Sam glanced towards her escort, who stood off to the side, ever watchful. "They know the angles here… the risks. And knowing those risks makes those risks less of an issue. With Geordie's family, and Ronica starting to settle down, it's be selfish of me to endanger them just to get coffee out in town, especially when a familiar location on campus is just as good."

_Huh_. He hadn't expected that. Not that he'd really expected her to consider them a fashion accessory, like some of the other students did. He'd never gotten that blatantly entitled vibe from her. But such express consideration for her security detail, individuals who were essentially paid help… it surprised him.

"You know, it's their job to protect you, not the other way around."

Her eyes met his over the rim of her cup, halting her sip of chai as she abruptly lowered her mug to the table. "It might seem that people my age spend all their time trying to escape their escort for the sole purpose of going out to party, but I'm not like that."

Her voice was hard, with a razor's edge of disappointment in her tone. Disappointment that he would make a snap judgement about her, just as others had about him.

"These people are willing to throw themselves in front of a bullet for me. That's not a game. Not to me. Limiting the chances of that bullet being fired in the first place is the absolute least I can do—"

"Hey." Jack reached out, brushing his hand over her wrist. The touch startled her, but she didn't pull away.

"I don't think you're like that," he assured her. "I think it's great that you consider their safety as much they do yours. That's a rare quality." He smiled. "I don't mind coming here, overpriced as it is…"

Her tight expression softened into an almost-smile at the humor. With it, the heavy mood tangibly lifted, and the sudden knot in Jack's gut eased. He was acutely aware of the fact he'd slid a little bit closer to her, even if he was sitting on the far side of the table. She spoke, and he listened. He learned more about her, and with each passing moment, he felt himself get pulled in a little but deeper.

The fact that it felt so right startled him, and he slammed on his brakes he almost spilled his coffee. She didn't seem to notice, for which he was grateful.

"Look," he said finally, moving away from the safe topics of conversation to ask the question that'd been nagging at him from the get-go. "I gotta ask… Why did you invite me? I'm beyond flattered, don't get me wrong, but... I'm not sure I understand what you're looking for here."

Her cheeks burned red, her gaze lowering. _Great, O'Neill._ Way to be blunt. To a fault. Scare her off, why don't you?

"I'm not sure either," she confessed softly. "I just… the term is about to end for the summer, and I guess I realized I wouldn't see you as often, and—and then I realized I really didn't know very much about you, which makes it weird that I'm worried about not seeing you, and I—"

Her eyes widened abruptly, and her lips pressed into a line as she caught herself rambling. Her blush deepened. For a moment, she seemed to freeze, and Jack was half-expecting her to bolt when she finally exhaled in an embarrassed laugh. "Pretty silly of me, huh?"

"To want to get to know me better?" Jack asked, his voice low. "I don't think so. I just think it means you have more guts than I do."

Her eyes met his, startled. "I had the same thoughts," he confessed, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. "But I wasn't about to approach you… I should have, though."

She looked at him for a long moment, her flush slowly fading. "Why didn't you?"

He ran a hand through his hair, looking away. "Ah, well… I guess I didn't think you would be interested in a guy like me." He paused then, waiting for her to respond, and when she didn't, he looked up to see her regarding him, her gaze betraying nothing of her thoughts.

"But I think the best way to get to know someone is over food," he continued, pretending he didn't feel the apprehension fluttering around in his belly. "Would you let me take you to _Citronelle_? For dinner, sometime next week?"

She processed the request, and Jack fought to remain patient until she offered her response. "Thursday?"

His lungs starting working again with a whoosh of relief. "Thursday," he confirmed.

It was enough notice that her people could scope the place out, take precautions. But something told him they'd already be familiar with the place. It was swanky enough to have hosted various dignitaries over the years. It would be right up her alley.

"And I'm paying," he declared, getting it out of the way. "None of this _flashing your I.D._ business." It would be a stretch, on his salary, but he could manage it. It'd be worth it. "Besides, I still owe you for helping me out with my engine problems."

For a moment it looked like she was about to protest, but then she seemed to think better of it. "All right," she agreed, ducking her chin in a shy smile. "You're on."


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: So... I know it's not Wednesday. But I was prepping this chapter intending to post it on Wednesday, and realized I just couldn't wait. So you guys get extras... :) _

_Enjoy!_

* * *

Thursday came too quickly. The week between passed in a blur as he steadily grew more anxious, both eager and reluctant for the appointed date. And again he arrived at the restaurant first, and waited outside looking crisp in a bargain-priced suit. It fit him well, but as he watched other patrons come and go, he felt faded against the background of opulence within.

He kicked himself for choosing a place that was completely out of his element. But tonight wasn't about him—it was about her. She'd be comfortable here, even if he wasn't. Before he could chide himself for asking her out period—because really, who was he kidding?— a dark town car pulled up, complete with tinted windows and diplomatic flags on the antennae. Geordie stepped out first, and opened the rear passenger door after a brief glance around.

At his nod, Sam unfolded herself from the car, leading with a lengthy expanse of leg then a slim body sheathed in a warm burgundy fabric that shimmered in the streetlights. Jack's gaze quickly slid upwards, catching on the bright eyes that were veritably electric, emphasized by a thin lining of shadow. He saw the sideswept hair, the dangling earrings, and felt his tongue swell in his mouth, suddenly dry and fleeced with cotton. She was beautiful.

Her lips curled upwards into a smile, and in that moment Jack knew that of all the wealthy folks inside, tonight he had the greatest treasure of all.

"Hi," she greeted, approaching him with smooth steps.

"Hi," he managed to return. "You look… amazing."

Her cheeks flushed slightly, but she didn't shy away. "Thanks. So do you."

They stared at each other for several long moments. Then Jack remembered himself, and cleared his throat. "Well, our table's ready, so…"

"Right," she joined quickly. "Yes, let's."

Again he held the door for her, and this time Ronica, who entered first, with Geordie picking up the rear. Ronica immediately headed for the back of the dining room, perhaps to share notes with the building's private security. Geordie remained with them, trailing a few discrete steps behind as the maître d' led them to their table. The restaurant was busy, even on a week night, and though the atmosphere felt almost studious in its ambience, it was less than intimate. In fact, it bordered on loud, forcing Jack to raise his voice slightly. "Have you been here before?"

Sam nodded, making Jack's eyes catch on the glinting shades of gold hair cascading down one shoulder. His mouth went dry, but he forced himself to remain focused. "A few times," she allowed.

Jack swallowed thickly. "Then you know what's good, right?" the quip barely masked his disappointment. This night would hardly be unique to her then. But that was why he'd chosen the place, right? He mentally kicked himself. _Get a grip on it, O'Neill_. He couldn't have it both ways.

"The escargot here is the best in the city, actually…" One look was enough to tell her what his opinion was of that. "Their porterhouse is better, though."

"Ah, now that's more like it."

The nervous conversation lasted them as far as ordering. They declined the house wine—he was still underage at twenty, and he learned then that she was seventeen. He was only marginally surprised. She might have seemed younger at first glance, but just ten minutes speaking with her would have had him guessing she was thirty. She was mature for her age, that was for sure.

The way she carried herself, her conduct… She was so well put together, in comparison to others her age. But he supposed having a diplomat (or two) for a parent might make anyone mature beyond their years.

When the following silence dragged on, however, he realized that she was a little _too_ put together. His hesitant attempts at conversation were met with polite responses that told him nothing of the girl he'd begun to glimpse back in the café a week ago. He hadn't given her a reason to act differently, at least not to his knowledge, and he hoped she wasn't re-thinking her decision to dine with him. He watched her gaze slide across the room, and suddenly, it clicked.

She was putting on a show, but not for him. It had nothing to do with him. She shifted in her seat continuously, however minutely, as if she couldn't get comfortable. And suddenly the disinterested detachment in her eyes was not for him, but for her surroundings, the restaurant itself. He'd chosen the place because he'd thought it would be right up her alley, but sitting there in the low light he realized he'd been as callous as the Washingtonian upper crust had been to him. He'd stereotyped her, as they did him, and presumed she would prefer the fancy linen and shiny silver.

But if he'd paid attention in the café, he would have realized that she was neither the spoiled debutante, nor the kind to be impressed by a place like this. If he'd been looking to make the night special for her, which he now knew he was, he'd definitely missed the mark.

He glanced at his watch. He might just have time to fix it. Excusing himself, and pointedly brushing off her curious inquiries, he made his way over to where Geordie stood sentinel.

"Ah, hey…" Solemn eyes refused to acknowledge him. "Think you could help me with something?"

_A beat._ "I'm working."

"Yeah, I know, and trust me, keep doing whatever it is you do. I mean, it's important work, absolutely." He glanced back at his date, who was watching with wide eyes. _Very important work._ "But, uh… I was wondering if you knew of any good Italian joints around here, if you know what I mean."

Geordie's eyes finally landed on him, regarding him solemnly. Finally, he nodded. "Tony's."

A single word that said so much. Both of them knew they weren't discussing any quality of food. With that one word, the body guard—in his instrumental influence on Sam's very existence—had given his approval.

With a grin, Jack patted Geordie on the back. "Thanks, man." Watchful eyes turned back to the diners, alerting Ronica to the change in plans via the mic disguised at his wrist.

Jack turned back to the table, only to face suspicious blue eyes. The gaze was piercing, and he swallowed against the heat of the flush that tickled at the base of his neck. He approached her, but didn't resume his seat. Instead he came alongside her, extending his hand enticingly.

"What are you doing?" she asked, her voice almost comically wary.

"We're gonna go find some Italian," he responded, flippantly vague. When she hesitated, he grinned. "Come on… Don't you trust me?"

And those big blue eyes stopped staring at his hand and met his gaze. They were searching for something, he thought, full of uncertainty even as he found that tell-tale spark of excitement. Of adventure.

Then a warm hand settled itself in his palm, providing him all the answer he needed. With a tug he pulled her to her feet, then led the way through the maze of tables. Dodging trays and flambé carts, he got them out the door, and felt her bump into him from behind as she failed to stop in time to match his abrupt halt.

Or maybe she hadn't wanted to stop, he let himself consider. He still held a firm grasp on her hand, and when her forehead rested against the back of his shoulder, he could almost feel the grin splitting her features.

"Where are we going?" she asked, a giggle in her voice. It made his insides melt, just a little bit.

"You'll see," was his only answer as the town car pulled up to the curb. Geordie ushered them both into the backseat, and then they were out of there just as a flurry of camera flashes erupted outside the restaurant. Paparazzi must've caught wind of some celebrity visiting the place, Jack figured.

But then a warm body leaned against his arm, stifling another giggle of excitement, and he didn't give the cameras a second thought.

* * *

"Here you are!" The waitress clad in khakis and blue polo shirt slid their order onto the table between them. "One pie with everything on it."

Jack peered suspiciously at the pizza, then eyed the cheery server. "_Everything?"_

She smirked. "Except anchovies, don't worry. Trust me, I wouldn't wish those things on anyone."

"Great!" Jack perked up. "Thanks."

"Anytime, sweetheart," came the winking reply. "You two need anything, you let me know, all right? My name's Carla. I'll be back to check on you in a little bit."

She left them to their food, which Jack doled out with salacious intent. The greasy triangle of cheese, sauce, and assorted toppings slid heavily onto the plate he passed to Sam. She received it, waited until he grabbed one for himself, then took a massive bite.

"Mmmmm," she mumbled through a full mouth, her eyes closed in rapture. Jack watched, frozen mid-bite.

"Good, huh?" he posed when she'd recovered slightly.

"It's been a long time since I've had pizza," she confessed, smiling around a greasy chin. "I hadn't realized how much I'd missed it."

Jack patted himself on the back. _Score one for Team O'Neill_. Already, the careful woman from the restaurant had disappeared, leaving in her place the vibrant young girl he'd been looking for. And still in the guise provided by the elegant dress and sensual up-do, so out of place in the low-key pizza joint, she looked even more ravishing. Ravenous too, if her second bite of pizza—as big as the first—was any indication.

"Happy to oblige." He took a bite of his slice, but his eyes never left her.

They spoke easily around their mouthfuls, both more at ease in the relaxed setting. He shared with her his story—made brief enough to simply cover his days in basic training and his injury shortly thereafter, which was what had landed him in DC in the first place. Refreshingly, she didn't voice any of the common sentiments he usually got when he shared his plight. She only nodded in comprehension, drinking in the information like it was water. She smiled at some of his lighter anecdotes, but he didn't see that megawatt grin she'd shown on campus.

He noticed that she seemed more out of place here than he did. Sure, his suit didn't belong in the pizza parlor any more than her dress did, but it was towards her the furtive looks and double-takes were made. Jack didn't let it bother him too much though—he'd be the first to admit that she was drop-dead gorgeous, from the earrings sparkling at her neck right down to the strappy heels on her feet.

Before he could do anything to get her attention away from the stares, which she was beginning to notice, the place was suddenly plunged into darkness. Through the shadows Jack saw Sam flinch in surprise, and his hand instinctively reached out to steady her even as he caught Geordie moving closer to them, his focus fierce with single-minded intent.

Someone loosed an excited whistle when a spotlight clicked on with a _thunk_, illuminating a small stage Jack hadn't even noticed. When Carla took to the microphone to announce the start of Live Music Thursday, Jack saw a moment of hesitation pass across Geordie's features.

He met Jack's gaze, then looked to Sam, whose turned head left her reaction a mystery to Jack. Then the man peeled away, graciously allowing the date to continue. Jack made a mental note to thank him later.

Carla, the apparent emcee of the evening, introduced the evening's musical guest. Jack didn't recognize the group, but a moment later he didn't care when Sam slid onto the booth seat beside him, eager to watch the stage without having to twist around in her seat.

She looked at him, her eyes twinkling. "Did you know this was going to happen?"

He shook his head, not bothering to pretend otherwise. "Nope." He arched a brow. "Why? Don't like music?"

She snorted a laugh. "Please," she drawled. "I was just thinking you were pretty slick—dinner and a concert in one date."

Jack considered it. He was pretty slick, come to think of it. Bah, he'd play it cool though. "A guy does what he can," he replied. "But sometimes, the cosmos works some magic to help him along."

The band came out onstage, and she leaned in close, to whisper in his ear. "Then the cosmos must really like you."

His opportunity to do anything more but blink at her was cut short by the opening chords shrieking from the speakers. A rocking, rolling beat made the air tremble, and the darkness was cut by the strobing of dozens of lasers raking the crowd. The band was good. The first song was fun and playful, and by the second the crowd had doubled in size, until there was standing room only and even then there were bodies pressing in on them from all sides.

When he felt Sam start to tense at the tightening personal space, he tugged her hand. "C'mere."

His tug had her hopping up into his lap, and she came so easily that he froze in surprise. The startled look she gave when their eyes met told him she was just as surprised as he was, if not more. For a long moment the eye contact held them enthralled.

The band's third song launched with an intricate slide of metallic notes, and they both quickly diverted their attention to the stage. Sam's hands folded in her lap, and one of Jack's covered them both. His other rested gently on the small of her back, and he told himself it was to help her keep her balance. Her perch on his legs was precarious, after all. And after a while, when his attention strayed from the entertainment, he realized that his knee didn't even ache.

Two songs later, the band started taking requests, reveling in the attention from the audience. Again, Jack's attention wandered, and this time his eyes could not tear away from the filigreed pendants dangling from her ears. As if it had a mind of its own, his hand lifted, trailing a feathery path along the silver lace. Slowly, she turned on his lap, twisting to meet his gaze once more.

This time, her eyes were clear, unshuttered, and he could barely breathe as he read the emotion staring back at him. Ever so slowly he leaned forward, her eyes following him as his lips passed hers, whispered past her cheek, and then hung there, hesitantly, at her ear.

"I'd really like to kiss you right now."

His voice was low, and gravelly with anticipation, asking permission only she could give. He wanted her to want it too. When he pulled back, looking at her in a haze of shadow and pulsing music, he knew her answer even before she spoke. It was written there in her eyes, clear as day.

"Please do."

The words were husky in her throat, their very sound sending tingles from his ears down to his core. They leaned together, and their lips met for a tantalizing moment in which time stood still, and all Jack knew was her, Sam, and the touch of her mouth against his.

Jack knew then, as they pulled apart and he found her just as dazed and breathless as he, that the cosmos truly was smiling on him. In that moment, the pieces clicked together. His decision to join the military, his cursed injury, his mind-numbing job… All of it had played out as it had for a very specific reason.

She was his reason. For everything.


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N: Here we go! Woo hoo! :D_

_Enjoy!  
_

* * *

The next day, she sought him out for lunch. She tossed him a sandwich and plopped down on the grass beside him, in the middle of the quad. As if it were the most natural thing in the world, and that she didn't notice the stares her fellow students sent her way. And every day after that, they had lunch together.

Somehow, she always found him, and sometimes they ate where they could spend the hour ignoring the strange looks they garnered from her peers. Other times they found someplace more private, like in the shade provided by the greenskeeper's shed. He didn't truly realize how Pavlovian he'd become until that one afternoon came that she didn't come to him.

When she remained absent long after she usually managed to find him, he went in search of her instead. He got lucky—the petite brunette he'd spotted with Sam the day at the café recognized him, and was able to point him to a less-frequented courtyard on the south end of the campus. The apologetic look she gave him did nothing to quell the dread that was growing in the pit of his stomach.

When Jack finally found her, ignoring the ache in his knee, Sam was bent low over a textbook, writing furiously in a spiral bound notebook. Geordie stood at the edge of the courtyard, and an unfamiliar watchman had taken the outer perimeter. _Must be Ronica's day off_, Jack mused. The new guy tried to stop Jack from coming closer, but Geordie came to his rescue by waving him through.

And again, an apologetic look—one that wished him luck, perhaps—dogged Jack's steps as he closed the remaining distance to the picnic table she'd taken over. He made a point to flop onto the bench seat opposite her, with enough noise to startle her out of her concentration. Momentarily.

"Oh, hi," she greeted. Her voice was distracted, and already her gaze drifted back down to her book.

"Oh, _hi?_" he mimicked, feigning insult. "You blow me off for lunch and _oh, hi_ is the most you can give me?"

She blinked. "Is it lunch time already?" She scribbled something onto her spiral, then crossed it out with vicious strokes of her pen. "Sorry. I'm…" Her voice trailed off, and she didn't continue despite his pointed waiting.

"You're busy," he supplied, filling the silence. She didn't respond immediately, flipping through the pages of text.

She nodded eventually. "Mmm…" she concurred. "I don't have time, right now—"

"Hey, all work and no play makes Sam a dull girl. You've earned a break by now, haven't you?"

"No!" she cried, her voice breaking. "No, I haven't! This isn't working…"

Jack blinked, trying to shove his instinctive panic aside. "What isn't working?" _Please don't say this. Don't say us._

"My final thesis!" she growled. "It's just… It's not coming together right."

_Oh_. That was all right then. "Then lunch is the perfect way to take a step back and then look at it later with fresh eyes." He moved to sweep her papers into a pile and off to the side, but only got as far as the textbook before her hands clutched at her notes, desperately keeping them in place.

"Stop it, Jack! I don't have time for this, it's due in three days and I—"

"_Say that again_."

She looked at him, startled at the sudden gravitas in his voice. She met his gaze, and returned his heavy look with a wide-eyed one of her own.

"It—It's due in three days…" she stammered. The touch of his hand on hers had shaken her from her headspace, and he could see her wheels spinning trying to catch up.

"Say my name." His tone was dark, and rich. In that moment, he realized he had never heard her say his name before. Circumstances hadn't required it, their time spent mostly one-on-one and without the need for names, but just now, it had sent an electric tingle down his spine.

"Jack." It came out as a half-whisper, her own voice almost breathless.

Slowly he grinned. "I like it when you say that." His thumb began to trace light circles over the back of her hand, slowly drawing her away from her notes. "Come on," he enticed. "Just for a few minutes. We won't go far." Still she hesitated. "Please?"

That one little word did her in. She relented, allowing him to pull her from her seat. He drew her out into the grass, where they curled up cross-legged, pulling the pre-packaged sandwiches from the bag Jack had brought with him. They ate studiously, as Jack simply looked at her, and Sam seemed unfocused and distracted. Finally, he straightened, pulling her attention back to him.

"All right," he declared stoutly. "Talk to me. What's your thesis in?"

"Jack, I don't know if—"

He grinned. "Come on, Sam, I completed high school y'know. Who knows? I might even be able to shed some light on it for you."

At that, her brow lifted. Then she smiled nervously. "Um, I don't really think—"

"Come on," he wheedled. "What could it hurt?" She sighed, but it was acquiescence he accepted. "What class is it in?"

"Physics 312."

Jack blinked. "Three-_twelve_? Isn't that a college-level course?" She nodded. "I thought this was a high school?"

"It is," she assured him. "But every semester we get a few visiting professors. A lot of the students don't have the luxury of remaining safe on a different campus, so they offer college-level courses to the students who qualify."

"And how many of your classes this term are college-level?" he asked, already sensing he knew the answer. All of a sudden, he wondered just how smart she really was. This place wasn't known for churning out the world's brightest minds, but he should've known better than to assume anything with her.

"All of them," she said softly. She ducked her chin, suddenly self-conscious. She met his gaze through her lashes. "Credits-wise, I'm a sophomore."

Jack tried to not let his surprise be so obvious. But if the reddening in her cheeks was any indication, he'd failed to some degree. "Wow." He cleared his throat. "Well, in that case, maybe I won't be able to help you." When she lifted her head, he caught her with a roguish grin. "But maybe explaining it to the stupid guy might help lay it out for you."

She huffed a small laugh, but she turned towards him, brushing the sandwich crumbs from her fingers as she did so. "The current school of thought presumes that most dark matter in the universe is nonbaryonic, which means that it couldn't have influenced the model of Big Bang nucelosynthesis, but—"

"Ack!" Jack waved her off. "Too many big words." He stuck his tongue out at her, dispelling the shadow that was beginning to creep over her features. "Start with the basics. What's the subject?"

"I told you—"

"For a stupid guy, remember?"

Blue eyes rolled, but a smile pulled at her lips. "Astrophysics."

Jack held back a low whistle. "For the record, I never would have pegged you for a geek."

"Why?" Her eyes narrowed. "Because I'm a girl?"

"Because you're _hot_."

_Heh_. She hadn't been expecting that. In fact, she even looked a little sheepish, having been caught jumping the gun. He nudged her playfully. "Which part is giving you a problem? Hypothesis or evidence?"

He remembered his high school Experimental Design Diagrams, if only in a vague, resentful sort of sense.

"Conclusion," she responded. "It's not right."

"I thought the conclusion was what you got out of the data you collect."

"It is."

"Well, you seem to understand the data all right, so…"

"It's not as simple as all that," she countered. "I know the data is correct, but it just… It doesn't match the conclusion."

Jack eyed her. "You know, I might just be a dumb flyboy, but aren't you supposed to go into an experiment with_out_ having a pre-formed conclusion?"

She looked at him, mildly surprised. He'd caught her off-guard, and in her eyes he could see her rising to the challenge. "There's a balance in science," she explained, squaring her shoulders. "There's the data collection, which is the majority of the work. The experimentation, and simulations. But the only thing that comes of it is a whole bunch of jigsaw pieces. It's the theory that shows you how all the different pieces fit together. It determines what kind of picture the pieces make."

Jack nodded. _That _he could understand. "And the pieces aren't coming together for you?"

She shook her head, blonde hair spilling over her shoulders. "It's like a kid just started mashing them together, putting two wrong ends together and pressing 'til they stayed together. It makes a whole picture, but it's not right."

Jack's fingers combed the grass, considering it. "So what do you need to put them in the right order?"

She shrugged, her gaze falling to where he'd started to shred the manicured lawn. A pinch of grass was caught by the wind, drifting towards the right until it came to rest next to the toe of his boot. "A piece is missing," she murmured. "And I don't know if I'll have time to find it before I present…"

Her voice trailed off, as the next handful of grass was lifted higher, carried farther. It got as far as his knee before it softly lit on the grass. He snapped off another pinch, and lifted his hand, but before he could release it her hand closed on his, making him still.

He glanced at her, then back at their hands as she lifted his higher. "Let go," she murmured. He obeyed, and the grass blew past his knee and halfway across her pleated lap. She didn't say anything, nor did she release him.

"It's just grass," he told her, his voice low.

A beat. "No. No it's not."

"What else could it be?" He looked at her, starting to seriously doubt her sanity. This place must really do a number on the students' psyches. All that stress. Too many exams—

"The Lambda-CDM model." Her voice almost quivered with excitement, and that communicated itself to Jack more clearly than whatever lamb-chop she was referring to.

"What's a—" His question was silenced by the kiss she planted on his lips, her hands suddenly cupping his cheeks. It was brisk and abrupt, and left him slightly reeling.

He opened his eyes to find blue eyes shining back at him, grinning broadly. And what a grin it was. That full-blown toothy grin that lit her entire face like it was Christmas in July. "You're brilliant."

A self-effacing half-scoff, half-laugh answered her. "Oh, well, I—"

"I've gotta go," she interrupted, cutting him short. She started to get to her feet. "I've gotta get back to the lab, I have to…" She paused, on her knees, and then leaned back in to kiss him one more time, still grinning that grin. He was glad he was sitting; his knees would have gone weak otherwise, he was sure of it. "I'll make it up to you, I promise."

"You better," he grinned back. "You owe me one."

"I'll owe you twenty for this." She climbed the rest of the way to her feet, nearly breathless as her hand trailed over his shoulder. "I gotta go!"

She made short work of her scattered notes, sweeping them into a messy stack before shoving them into the pages of her text book and shoving the whole thing into her bookbag. She shot him a wave and another smile before taking off, almost making her escort run to keep up with her.

If Jack didn't know any better, he would've sworn that he saw Geordie grinning as the man trotted along after her.


	5. Chapter 5

_A/N: This may be where I lose some people. But I hope instead that people are simply intrigued. :)_

_Enjoy!  
_

* * *

"Jack! Jack!"

Jack spun around at the shout, and was nearly bowled over by a fast-moving Sam as she threw her arms around him in a fervent hug. He returned it, happily surprised, and grinned at Ronica over Sam's shoulder. The woman smirked back.

Over the weeks he'd become familiar enough with both her regular bodyguards that they no longer considered him a simple part of the landscape. With the school term almost at an end, Jack found himself almost on friendly terms with the formidable escort duo. Geordie, in his steadfast fortitude, stood some ways off, watching the school crowd passing by.

"Hey!" he said, pulling back to look her in the eye. "Aren't you supposed to be in class?"

"I had a meeting with my professor, and I couldn't not tell you, so I thought—"

He put a finger to her lips. "Humans can't understand you when you speak that fast, Sam."

She reached up and wrapped her hand around the offending finger, gently peeling it away. "They want me to present my thesis to the Near Field Cosmology Conference in Annapolis this June," she told him, markedly slower, but no less excited.

He smiled broadly. He had no idea what in-field cosmetology was, but he was undeniably proud for her. "I take it this is a good thing?"

"Jack, some of the greatest minds in the field will be there! NASA and representatives from some of the biggest private sector research institutions will be listening to my work. Only the newest, most innovative theories are asked to present. If my thesis stands up to their scrutiny, then it could mean our understanding of the universe might—"

She was picking up speed again, and he silenced her with a kiss. When he pulled back, he brushed her bangs from her eyes. "That's amazing," he told her, his voice serious. "You earned it."

"I couldn't have done it without you," she responded. When he scoffed away her words, she poked him in the chest. "It's true. I don't know if I would've made the connection without you. Those last few days were so frustrating, and I—"

"You're welcome," he cut in smoothly, kissing her again. "Really." But he knew that she would've done it eventually. He didn't even do anything, really. Just some impromptu gardening. He smiled at her for a moment, his arms still around her, taking in her beaming smile and twinkling eyes. "Look… could you meet me at the shed after class? There's, ah… there's something I'd like to talk to you about."

"Sure," she responded. "Five o'clock okay?"

"Yeah." Reluctantly, he disengaged himself from their embrace. "I gotta get back to work before my boss comes over and finds out I've been slacking off to smooch kiss the students."

She'd almost turned to leave, but froze at his words. With exaggerated slowness, she turned back to scrutinize him. "Students? As in… _plural_?" A brow lifted. "Am I going to have sic Geordie on someone?"

Jack grinned. "Please. Like any of those other skirts could catch my attention. I got eyes only for you, babe. You're the only one for me."

He meant it as a joke, but part of him whispered that it really wasn't.

"All right," she acquiesced, walking backwards as she continued to grin. "But if I hear you've been eyeballing Susie Q over in the English track, you and I are going to have words."

"Uh oh… _Words_. I'm quaking in my boots."

She smirked. "Don't you know techno-babble can be deadly? Especially if used by someone who knows what they're doing…." The chirp made him wonder if she might be spending a little too much time with him. When he considered how little he saw her, all things considered, he dismissed it.

"Yeah, yeah…" he hummed. "Get to class, little miss truant. I'll see you at five."

* * *

And true to his word, he did. She was there at the shed at five on the dot, and he'd be damned if she wasn't still grinning. When they settled under their tree nearby, he looked at her. She met his gaze, one brow arched in curiosity. Waiting.

"I passed my physical," he said in a rush. Her smile grew, obviously happy for him, but he continued before she could congratulate him. "Starting next week, I'm back on active duty."

She blinked, and her lips pulled into an _o. _Some of the sparkle faded from her gaze, as she realized what that meant. "So…"

"So, when the term is over I'll be reporting in to Andrews Air Force Base. For now I'll be stationed there as permanent personnel support for the reservists."

And just like that, her eyes lit up again. "That's so close," she smiled.

"Yeah," he agreed. "So I'll be around all summer. And I was thinking since you wouldn't have class, I'd be able to see more of you…" Her features fell, suddenly apologetic. "What?"

"I'll be traveling abroad with my father for most of the summer," she told him, her voice low. "We leave almost as soon as the term ends, and though he'll be doing a lot of back and forth travel, I won't be back until August. I'll barely be back long enough to do the conference in June."

Jack swallowed. "Oh." He looked down at his hands. He'd accepted the assignment to Andrews for the sole purpose of being around… well, to be around her. He was so stupid. "Well, that's okay. Odds are I'll still be there in the fall when class starts again. I won't be on campus, but…" But most of their interaction now was on campus, and without the common venue he had no idea if they'd ever be able to wrangle enough time to meet up.

He brushed off his disappointment. He'd never asked her about the summer. He should've known she'd be jet-setting off with the senior… senior, _what_? Jesus, he'd never even bothered to learn her last name. She'd always just been Sam, and that was enough.

"You know, I was actually kind of hoping to meet your dad," he told her hesitantly. The confession earned him a giggle. "What?"

"I don't think anyone has ever willingly introduced himself to my father before," she told him. "At least, not as my boyfriend."

"Oh, well, you know… us O'Neills are a breed apart. We just go looking for trouble. No reason I can't find it at the… uh…" _Crap. _So much for playing it cool. "_Your_ residence," He finished.

She was looking at him like he was crazy. Maybe he was. "I don't know your last name," he explained reticently.

Still, she looked at him like he was growing two heads. He almost thought about retracting the question, if she was going to be so weird about it, but then she answered. "Carter."

The single word answer was slow and drawn out, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. Jack barely kept himself from crinkling his nose at the disparaging tone. "And let me guess, your dad is some big cheese at the Capitol, huh?"

Hopeless confusion twisted her features, and she leaned back a little bit, like he might be contagious. "Jack, _what—?"_

His mind was already speeding along like a freight train, trying to figure out why she was acting like that. She'd never once looked down on him for not knowing who was in fashion, or which bills were about to get passed. Their conversations had been entirely mundane, really, so why she was suddenly so put off was beyond him—and then it clicked. Like the jigsaw puzzle that had been giving her such trouble last week had fallen into place, so had his. She wasn't just Sam. She was Sam Carter. _Samantha_ Carter.

"Your dad isn't _Jacob_ Carter, is he?" He looked at her just in time to see her features tighten in apprehension. And there it was. His answer, clear as day.

"Oh my god… Your dad is President of the United States."

Not just a big cheese. He was _the_ big cheese.

Suddenly, he felt ill. The constant escort, the eternal vigilance… they weren't just hired guns. They were Secret Service. And the restaurant, the paparazzi—they'd been there for _her_. Hadn't they? The more he thought about it, the more he was sure.

Sam brushed her hand against his knee, and he was startled from his thoughts, pulling back instinctively. Only she didn't realize the reaction was reflexive, not repulsive, and she drew away sharply. "I didn't—" Her voice rasped against her throat. "I'm sorry. I thought you knew…"

"Don't you think you could have mentioned it?" It came out sharper than he intended, and winced when her eyes hardened.

"It's not like it's a secret, Jack!" she fired back, eyes flashing. "My entire family was plastered on the cover of every news journal in America for months!"

He'd been in basic training during the election season. He hadn't even voted, just learned the name of his new Commander in Chief. Beyond that, he hadn't given a hoot about politics. It made his head hurt. Even now, he was feeling the first poundings of the tell-tale headache.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sam's head duck abruptly, saw her sigh as she brought her temper back under control.

"I wasn't trying to hide it from you," she said. Jack almost preferred the temper to the somber tone she now wore. Her features smoothed, and suddenly he realized that she was pulling away. "I guess I should have mentioned it, but I thought, for once…"

She shifted, readying herself to get up, but Jack quickly grabbed her hand. "Please, don't—don't go." He swallowed his stammer, and when he tried again, his voice was stronger than he felt. "I'm sorry I— I was just… I wasn't prepared for that."

Her gaze still refused to meet his, but she lingered, so he counted it a step in the right direction. For a long moment, they simply sat there, with his hand on hers, and her body poised to flee. He wondered how long she'd been alone before they'd met—before they'd stumbled upon each other, really. There hadn't been anything really elegant about it. He'd gotten heart-stoppingly lucky, and he knew it.

"This changes things, doesn't it?" Her whisper almost blended into the rustling of the leaves above their heads, and Jack had to glance at her to assure himself he hadn't imagined it.

"Yeah, it does," he replied, unwilling to lie. He gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. Her gaze remained glued to her knees. "But I don't see how it has to change us."

It was a short beat before his words registered, and her eyes looked up at him in surprise.

"I love you, Sam." _Oh god, he did_. "And right now I think my biggest concern is how I'm supposed to survive a summer here without you."

The corners of her eyes crinkled, as though she couldn't quite bring herself to believe it. "You mean it? You aren't—?"

She never finished her thought. But if it was _angry_, or _spooked_, or _turned off_, then he could put her fears to rest.

"No. I don't care if you're the Dalai Lama. To me, you're the smart aleck who handed my ass to me by fixing an engine I couldn't." He smirked. "It just means I'll have to be more careful with you," he said playfully. "Since you are the First Daughter, and all."

She grimaced, and Jack swallowed whatever it was he was going to say next. No doubt an inappropriate comment or two. Her lips twisted into a chagrined smile. "Of course not!" But when he didn't buy it, she relented. "Not officially. They'd never let me act in any sort of official capacity, at my age." She shrugged. "But I've assumed most of the duties. As much as I can, anyway…"

"Anyway, that's why I won't be here this summer," she explained. "I try to fill in for my mom as much as I can, which means a lot of social engagements and public appearances. We've tried to schedule as many events as we can in the summer so that I don't have to miss too much school to be with him."

Jack blinked. He remembered now, kind of. He'd read somewhere that the President's wife had died in a car accident shortly before the election. The unspeakable grief that washed over Sam's features and the shine of tears in her now dark eyes told him the loss was still very fresh. "I'm sorry."

She nodded, wordlessly accepting his condolences. "It's been a while now…" As if that made it all right. It didn't, but he didn't push it.

A beat passed. Then she relaxed, shoving her distress aside. She melted closer to him as he felt the sudden crisis bleed away. "But you know… " He glanced at her, a small smile on his lips. "I'll still miss you."

She sighed, and her head rested against his shoulder when he wrapped an arm around her. "I'll miss you too."


	6. Chapter 6

_A/N: I have no idea what the policy is on the First Family joining the military. I know that the British royals get to serve, but I dunno about the American presidents and their families. So just bear with me, all right? :)_

_Enjoy!_

* * *

The term ended, and Jack settled into his new role at Andrews. It was nothing to write home about, but it kept him busy enough to keep his mind off of the one thing that was missing.

_Sam._

He tracked her movements through Europe by boning up on the political journals he found in the newsstands. He devoured any article that featured the First Family, and learned more than he could have ever thought himself capable. There was a First Son, Sam's older brother Mark, who for all intents and purposes seemed to be out of the picture. The elder progeny of Jacob Carter was away at college, and filled his vacation time by going on humanitarian missions in third world countries. He didn't get into the political aspect of things.

By comparison, Sam seemed like the busiest bee in the hornet's nest that was the United States Capitol. She accompanied her father to dozens of events each year, and had assumed as many of the First Lady duties as was humanly feasible, on top of her advanced curriculum. Like many a First Lady before her, she'd selected a political pet project in the form of child welfare reform—stricter regulations and oversight for registered foster families, better facilities for group homes, and programs designed to eliminate the stigma foster kids faced in the public school systems.

The public lauded her for it, despite having been scornful when she'd first begun her campaign. Besides attacking her age, they'd asked why she hadn't focused on something obvious, like world hunger or illiteracy. But all of her naysayers had been rendered mute when they saw the single-minded focus with which she executed her strategies. Even now, barely into her second year of the Presidency, her 'unofficial' office had installed hundreds of support programs in schools nationwide and reduced reports of child neglect and abuse in the foster system by twenty percent.

Jack saw pictures of her surrounded by the dozens of grinning children piled into the frame, of her reading storybooks to groups of kids listening with rapt attention. And when he looked at the images of an elegant Sam charming various dignitaries from around the world, he saw glimpses of the woman he'd briefly courted at _Citronelle_. But even as he tacked the pictures onto his mental map of her summer tour, he was smug.

The public may have been aware of Samantha Carter, unofficial First Lady of the United States, for much longer than he had—but _he_ remained the only one who knew the real person beneath.

He got a letter from her every few weeks. They were short, and while they didn't really tell him much, they were in and of themselves proof that he was still in her thoughts. He was just beginning to accept the letters as all he would get from her when one evening, alone in his barracks room on base, a knock on his door startled him from his musings.

He hurriedly swept the evidence of his discontent into a desk drawer, shoving pictures and magazines into a messy heap before shutting it was a resounding _thunk_.

He opened the door to find the watch standing outside, bored and utterly unenthused. "You got a visitor, O'Neill."

Jack snatched up his cover and followed the airman down to the main entrance. Visitors weren't allowed in the building, and in the steps it took to find his way down the stairs, he wondered who it could be. And then, he realized it was already June. In fact, it was mid-June.

He broke into a sudden sprint, nearly knocking the lethargic airman over in his rush to get by. "'Scuse me," he muttered distractedly.

"Make a hole!" he shouted, running through the halls and towards the entrance. "Make a hole!" Most were wise enough to obey, and one even held the door open to ease his passage.

And there she was, beaming and glorious in a t-shirt and blue jeans. He slowed only marginally as he came closer, giving Geordie and Ronica time to recognize him before he swept her up into his arms, spinning her around as his heart threatened to beat itself out of his chest. She returned the embrace just as fiercely, laughing into his ear.

They hugged for a long moment, and Jack let the scent of honeysuckle wash over him. She was so warm, their bodies pressed together as they were. "What are you doing here?" he asked, finally pulling back to take a good look at her.

Her skin was a golden tan, but her tour had begun to course its way towards Africa, the last few weeks, so he wasn't surprised. She looked good. Better than that. She was beautiful. And the comfortable clothes she wore affirmed that this was truly Sam in front of him, not the remnants of unofficial-First-Lady-Samantha.

"I was up in Annapolis, and it just so close—I couldn't go back without seeing you." She kissed him. "I missed you."

He pulled her into another hug, and already felt the growing dread that he would have to let her go again. "How long do you have?"

"Our flight leaves in seven hours," she murmured into his neck. Her lips curled into a smile, tickling his skin. "Until then, I'm all yours."

_Seven hours_. It would have to be enough. "That's just enough time for me to get you some food," he declared, shoving the dread aside. "You hungry?"

"Starving," she confessed. "We didn't stop to eat."

"Wow." He pulled back, slinging an arm around her shoulders as they moved down the sidewalk. "You're getting your own pizza then. No way I'm sharing just to watch you eat all of it yourself."

* * *

"How did your presentation go?" he asked as soon as their orders had been placed. They found a table to sit at, and he still didn't let go of her hand.

"Oh gosh, I was so nervous! I thought my gut was gonna petrify into a rock by the time it was over. All knots." But she grinned. "I think they liked it."

"Of course they did. You're brilliant. Don't they know that?"

She rolled her eyes. "Well, there were a few people who seemed… less than convinced. The very concept of my thesis flies in the face of some of what they're trying to prove with their own research, so I couldn't take it personally. But one or two were particularly vocal."

Jack blinked. "Did they _heckle_ you?" She giggled at his incredulity. "I thought eggheads were supposed to above all that!"

"Most of them were," she conceded. "And a few even came by afterwards to tell me how impressed they were with how I handled it."

Jack eyed her. "Handled it how?"

"Oh, you know… Ran rings around them logically." She tried to stifle another laugh, and failed miserably. "They got so flustered, I just couldn't help myself."

"You are one dangerous woman, Samantha," he informed her. "Remind me not to get on your bad side." He _tsk_ed, shaking his head. "Making them look stupid in front of their peers… How cold!"

"Oh please, worse things could have happened."

"Damn straight!" he exclaimed. "If I'd been there, I'd have knocked their heads together like they were Larry, Moe, and Curly!"

Her eyes squinched in distaste. "Oh, now that's an image! One of them even looked like Moe, bowl cut and everything!"

"Huh, maybe I should have been there." And suddenly, he wished he had been. He would've liked to see her speak, and blow the socks off of every tight-laced, four-eyed geek in the room. "So you think your thesis is going to hold up?"

She shrugged. "It's too soon to tell. It's solid, or else it would never have made it into the conference in the first place. And it made a lot of people think, it looked like. Which is already more than I could have hoped for." She paused, then, and he could tell she was on the verge of holding something back. He didn't say anything, letting her make her decision. He could wheedle it out of her later if necessary.

"The ones who came over to congratulate me," she said finally, her voice suddenly somber. Maybe not somber. But reticent. Shy. "One of them was from NASA."

Jack's eyes widened. "Really? That's awesome!"

And just like that, her enthusiasm was back. Her face lit into yet another grin. "He offered me a job, as soon as I graduate. Full scholarship to any college who'll take me—"

"Which is all of them," he cut in.

"And the room to work on anything I wanted. State of the art equipment, cost of living allotments, everything."

Jack grinned. "Sam, that's amazing. It sounds like it could be a great move for you." A shadow flashed across her gaze. "Unless… is it not something you want to do?"

She shrugged, shaking off her momentary uncertainty. "No, it's an amazing opportunity, and—"

"Sam." Jack squeezed her hand. "You don't have to pretend for me. I'm not gonna judge you."

Her eyes softened, her expression falling ever so softly. "I know you won't. I do. I just—" She hesitated, then took a deep breath. "I've always wanted NASA. But not as a scientist. At least… not just a scientist." Jack waited, content to let her share. "I wanted to go into space."

"Really?"

She nodded. "I was going to go into the Air Force, get a commission, become a pilot… And then I was going to put in my application to NASA's spaceflight program."

"Wha—but can't you still do that?"

"No," she said, shaking her head. "I gave that up when I joined my father in his work. So much of what I do is part of the Office of the First Lady, and it's put me in the spotlight too much for me to seriously consider going military." She looked up at him, and abruptly rolled her eyes. "Don't look at me like that. I knew what I was a doing."

Jack shook his head. "I—I guess I don't get it. You're smart, Sam, and when I hear talk about all this space stuff, I can tell it's something you love. They would've been crazy not to snap you up. And I can't think of a better place for you than up there, among the stars."

Her cheeks reddened. He reached out, letting both his hands cover hers. Her gaze avoided him, but he didn't relent. Not yet.

"Why would you give that up?" he asked.

She sighed. "It was right after my mom died. Mark was _in absentia_, had been for six months, and Dad was considering withdrawing from the election. But that would've killed him. He'd put everything into the campaign, even—" She paused, then began again, in a clearly different direction than she's started. "If he had withdrawn, he would never have forgiven himself."

"You gave up your dream, so he could have his," Jack surmised. A nod answered him. "Did he know? Did he know how much you were giving up?" That she wasn't just sacrificing the prime years of her youth, when everyone else her age would be partying and experimenting with the newfound freedoms of coming adulthood… but also her future?

She shrugged. "He knew my plans… I'd told him that I wanted to go into space. He was all right with it then, I guess, if he even believed I was serious. But when I told him I was going to go into the service—" Her voice darkened. "He flipped. Wouldn't have any of it."

"But wasn't he a Lieutenant Colonel?" Jack had read that somewhere, in his extensive studying in her absence. The man was a decorated military officer, a respected leader, even before he got into politics.

"He said he knew what kind of hardships women face in the military. And that so many sacrificed too much of themselves to fit in. He'd seen horrible things, and didn't want me to have that kind of weight on my conscience." She shrugged. "I told him it wasn't his decision. It was the biggest fight we've ever had. Before or since."

"And when you told him you were going to run with him? Did he knew how much of the First Lady responsibilities you were planning to take on?"

Another shrug. "He was proud of me. Grateful, even. He didn't mention my plans to go into space… but he knew. He had to. And what's happened since exempts me from both the military and spaceflight, even after we leave office."

Jack swallowed his growing resentment towards his Commander in Chief, a man he'd never met beyond seeing his face on the wall at the top of the chain of command. He could never imagine having a daughter as ambitious as Sam, as brilliant and boundless as she was, and then deny her the chance to live her dreams. Of not at least trying to talk her out of a decision she was clearly making for his benefit. It blew his mind.

"I'm sorry," she said, cutting into his thoughts. "I shouldn't have said anything."

"No," he said. "I'm glad you told me. You shouldn't have to keep something like that to yourself." He squeezed her hand gently. "But I want you to know, I think…" He met her gaze, not letting her look away. "I think that if you get the chance, you should go for it. You should go into space."

She blinked. "I don't—"

"I mean it," he cut her off. "Sam, when you say all that space mumbo-jumbo, your face just lights up. You love it, tell me you don't." She couldn't, just as he knew she couldn't. "If you get the chance to go into space, I want you to take it. No matter what anyone else thinks, no matter what you think you owe someone else. You owe yourself this, more."

Her eyes were wide, shining with a combination of tears and surprise, with a dash of touched_._ Heh. He'd rendered her speechless. _Score._

"Promise?" Her jaw twitched, but she remained hesitant. "Promise me, Sam."

She blinked, then broke into a shy smile. "I promise."

Jack nodded in approval. "Good."

Their pizza came, and they ate in silence for a few minutes. As their appetites were sated, they slowed, and when they came up for a breather, Jack found Sam smiling at him, her gaze thoughtful. "What?" he asked. He wiped his chin self-consciously. "Sauce?"

She shook her head. "No." Her shoulder lifted in dismissal. "It's nothing."

He let it go. They continued to eat, and once their plates were taken away, they were left to wait for the check. In the quiet calm that followed, her voice traveled across the table to him, soft and low. "Jack?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you."

He leveled an easy smile her way. "You never have to thank me for putting you first," he told her. "Never."

She blushed. "Maybe. But still… Thanks."

Her thank-you stayed with him the entire night, and even after he'd let her catch her flight, the echo of her voice in his ears kept him warm. And somehow he knew that whatever fate had in store for the First Lady, when she was no longer the First Lady, well…

Even the stars wouldn't be enough to contain her.


	7. Chapter 7

_A/N: Here is the Friday update! A little early, I know, but I have about ten minutes to post now before heading out for the night, so oh well! :)_

_Enjoy!_

* * *

Fall came uneventfully. Sam returned to the States and resumed her classes, while Jack found himself promoted to Senior Airman. He was doing good work, even if it wasn't the saving-the-world stuff he'd envisioned for himself. It was worth it to have Sam present him a congratulatory cupcake the next time they met up. Devil's food—his favorite.

They made time for each other, somehow. At least once a week, more if they could both wrangle the time. But with things the way they were, more than one meet-up doubled as a study session, he for his advancement exams, and she for her own classes. She even let him help her sometimes, when she had flashcards of historical dates or conjugated verbs.

In an attempt to maintain a low profile, they frequented discreet shops, for coffee or a meal. They were trusted establishments, who knew better than to start hollering at the appearance of the well-known Samantha Carter. Even so, Jack found himself willingly burdened by an acute situational awareness whenever he was with her. Though he knew Geordie and Ronica were more than vigilant, his gaze searched for hidden threats of its own volition, and more than once his body placed itself between her and the far-off glint of sunlight on glass.

He didn't know if she ever noticed, but he figured if she had, she would have given him what-for a long time ago.

"Do you like what you're doing?"

Jack blinked from his thoughts at the sound of Sam's voice. He pushed his notepapers aside, shaking himself from his focus. She was sitting back in her chair, taking an uncharacteristic break from her laptop to sip on her chai. Her gaze was thoughtful, and Jack had to wonder how long she'd been watching him.

"What do you mean?" he asked, stretching his back out. He doubted she was referring to the studying—they'd already established it was a necessary evil.

"Being stationed at Andrews," she clarified. "In a support position. Do you enjoy it?"

He considered it for a moment. "It's all right for now," he admitted, rubbing a hand against the back of his head. "I think it's a good way to get going again after an injury like mine."

His knee hadn't pained him during his every day activities for a while now. PT was still a little dicey, but it was getting progressively better. He could probably handle a more active role at another base if he really wanted it… but he sort of didn't. The job might not speak to his heart, but she did.

Being with her was worth a boring job.

"I've been thinking—"

"There's a shock," he smirked.

She wrinkled her nose at him, but continued undaunted. "I think you'd make a good officer."

"Eh. I like to work for a living."

His quip earned him a grin. "It would mean more paperwork," she acknowledged, "but you'd get more opportunities to do amazing things."

"Like what?"

A shrug. "Fly planes. Lead the world's best and brightest." Her humor faded into a raw honesty that made him shiver. "You're smarter than you let others think you are. You proved that with your last rank exam. And I think they'd be lucky to have someone like you—"

A sound like a car back-firing burst into life nearby, exploding across the quiet, narrow streets with a deafening retort. Jack froze, and saw Sam's eyes widen slightly. Geordie was already moving when the sound came again, and was then answered by a harrowing _ratatat_ of increasing volume as it moved closer. Not a car after all. Gunfire.

Jack reacted on instinct alone, before Geordie even shouted the alarm. He knocked his chair over in his leap towards Sam, pulling them both down. His hand pressed against the base of her neck, bending her into a defensive crouch. He shielded her with his body until Geordie reached them, and a squeal heralded the sudden appearance of the armored town car.

A meaty hand yanked Sam to her feet, but kept her low as Geordie, Ronica, and two plainclothes agents formed a human shield around her. "Bluebird is in hand!" one delivered into a wrist mic. They were almost to the car before Jack heard Sam's own shouts.

"Jack? Jack!"

_Goddammit_. She was dragging her feet, trying to peer around her guards to find him. "JACK!"

He barely managed to sweep her computer into his arms before he was sprinting towards the car. Sam had already been bustled inside, and Geordie's urgent hand shoved Jack in to join her before the door slammed shut and the car peeled into traffic.

Sam's hand clutched his as they were both pushed below by an insistent Ronica, who Jack figured must have slipped in with Sam. He tried to hand her the laptop he'd rescued, but Sam pushed it away, unwilling to let go of him. She hung onto him with both hands, her shoulders tense and breaths carefully measured.

Wide blue eyes stared at him, and he gently reached out to tuck her long hair behind her ear. "You okay?"

She shook herself slightly, dispelling her shock. Her chin bobbed in a nod, then her lips gave a half-hearted smile.

"What?" he asked.

"Guess you're going to meet my dad after all."

A lump the size of a baseball suddenly rose in his throat. "Oh." The word sounded strangled in his own ears, and he felt her giggle next to him at his response.

Yeah, _oh_.

Oh, god.

* * *

Jack gazed around the decorated hallway, trying not to meet the eyes of the guards tasked with making sure he didn't do something stupid. His hands were already tucked into his pockets against the urge to leave his fingerprints on all the paintings, vases, and mostly fake plants. Sam might find humor in his inability to keep from fidgeting, but he doubted anyone else here would appreciate his paws all over everything.

He'd been alone for almost ten minutes, now, Sam having been hurried off for a quick debrief of the situation. He'd already had his, and in exchange Ronica had shared with him that Metro suspected it was just some local gang outside their usual territory. The lack of terrorism was surprisingly reassuring; they'd just been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Now he only hoped he'd be able to slip away before—

"_You._"

An authoritative voice made him turn, then freeze like a deer in the headlights. Jacob Carter eyed him with a look that barely passed as something other than a glare, but Jack was already snapping to attention and executing a crisp salute. He was made to stand there, hand to his brow, a few pointed beats longer than was customary, and Jack's gut dropped an inch.

"At ease," the President delivered, finally returning the salute, releasing him.

"With me, Airman," President Carter commanded, his voice congenial enough to mask the iron-clad order. Jack's gaze cast about desperately, hoping for Sam's timely rescue, but when she did not miraculously appear, he had no choice but to obey.

He followed his Commander-in-Chief down the hallway and around the corner, finally finding their destination in the form of an opulent study. The President took a seat in an overstuffed leather chair, complete with a wing-backed presence that only added to the intimidation factor. Jack remained on his feet, hands clasped behind him in a parade rest.

"Name and rank."

"Jack O'Neill, E-3, Senior Airman," Jack responded swiftly.

Jacob Carter lifted a glass of golden liquor to his lips. Smelled like brandy. "And what do you think makes you good enough to date my daughter?"

"I don't, sir."

"You don't what?"

"Think I'm good enough to date your daughter, sir." She was so far out of league, and he knew it. He couldn't very well deny it.

If that answer surprised him, the President didn't show it. "Oh?"

"Yes, sir." Jack didn't let his gaze fall from the invisible point on the wall across the room.

Brandy swirled in its glass tumbler. "Then explain to me how it is that you've been seen in public with her no less than eighteen times in the past three months."

Jack swallowed a smile. "She chose me, sir." And he thanked God every day that she had.

"So you're humoring her, then."

"No, sir!"

The President smiled at his vehement answer. "Good." A pause. "My men have nothing but praise for you," he continued. "You get along well with my daughter, and some have noticed that you have her safety in mind."

"I do, sir."

"And you have good instincts," the President delivered. "Which leads me to a business proposition for you."

Jack blinked. "Sir?"

"My daughter trusts you. You have a good eye for identifying threats and reacting accordingly. I want you to become part of her security detail. It would mean an automatic transfer from Andrews and an instant promotion and corresponding pay hike."

The room fell silent, the President obviously expecting Jack to respond. But he didn't.

"I think that's more than anyone could ask for," the President continued, his voice taking on a hard edge. "And it's the least you can do considering she's risking her life every moment she spends out in town with you."

The cold accusation sent ice coursing down Jack's spine. As if he hadn't already realized the danger he put her in, and the selfish decision he'd made to ignore it for the sake of continuing to see her.

"Well, what do you have to say for yourself, Airman?"

The tone urged Jack to finally meet the man's gaze, and Jack found it to be leveled and even. Almost calculating. He saw parts of Sam in the gaze, but where Sam had nothing but good-hearted enthusiasm, Jacob Carter was merely playing an angle. He expected Jack, lowly airman that he was, to jump at the promotion being dangled in front of him.

Jack took a deep breath. "With all due respect, sir—"

"_Enough._"

The familiar voice rooted Jack to the spot, as though he was caught doing something wrong. But he wasn't, was he? Sure, Sam probably didn't appreciate being discussed like a business transaction. But as she crossed his field of vision, he realized the cold anger radiating from her wasn't directed at him. She didn't look at him at all.

Her eyes were locked on her father, who had yet to react. The President met his daughter's gaze calmly, an expression of ready expectance writ across his features. If he was sheepish at being caught red-handed at bullying the boyfriend, he didn't let it show.

Sam's steps were long and steady, eating up the distance quickly until she was in front of her father's desk. Her shoulders were square, and not a single movement was superfluous. The air around her crackled with intensity, an unspoken aura of authority draped around her like a cloak. With a skip of his heartbeat, Jack realized he was witnessing his first glimpse of the First Lady in action. Her role might be unofficial, but the charisma was not. She met her father's gaze, holding it in an iron grip. "We had an agreement."

Her voice was calm, but it worked her natural authority like a blade; precise, keen-edged, and undeniably effective. The President steepled his fingers, remaining unconcerned. Yet. "I'm your father. I have the right to know who my little girl—"

"I'm not a little girl." And she certainly wasn't. A little girl couldn't have commanded such a presence. Her natural force of being had charmed dignitaries and politicians the world over. He doubted this simmering anger was at all similar to that, but even now Jack felt irrevocably attracted to her. Like a magnet, he was drawn into her voice. Even her father seemed to be falling victim to her pull. His expression had darkened, softened even. Far from penitent, but no longer recalcitrant.

"We have an agreement," she repeated, her hand coming to rest against the flat of his desk to support her weight as she leaned closer. "You have _no_ say."

The President stood, breaking her spell with his superior height. Jack snapped to attention. He was ignored. "I always have a say in my daughter's life—"

"Not in this," came the resounding return. "I don't care if you approve of Jack."

The President softened then. Completely. "Sam, I was just…"

"I already know the kind of man you approve." She was unyielding. "I already know that Jack is more than that. Hopefully, you'll come to the same conclusion yourself, some day. Until then, stay away from him. Keep your orders to yourself, and stop trying to intimidate him into leaving me alone."

The President sighed. "I was merely offering."

"I know what you were offering. Don't." Sam drew back, pulling herself to her full height and leveling a heavy look at the most powerful man in the free world. "Don't you dare try to turn me into his _job_. I will not let him die for me."

With that, she effectively ended the conversation by turning on her heel to glide towards Jack. He anticipated her intention and by the time she tugged on his hand with a terse "Let's go," he was already matching her stride for stride. Neither of them said another word until the office door shut behind him, and belatedly Jack realized he had shown where his loyalty lay more clearly than if he'd flipped the President the bird. He almost grinned, content with his instinctive choice.

Which made the sharp shove to his chest a distinct surprise. He sputtered in indignation, but was silenced when he found the glare she'd leveled at her father being directed at him. _Woah_.

"The next time you discuss me with my father, you'll do it as an equal man," she declared, her voice cutting through him like a knife. "Not some common foot soldier." Jack's throat worked, searching for a voice that refused to come. "He'll never respect you until you do," she continued. "And neither will I."

Jack blinked. Then, he smiled. "Permission to be my regular irreverent self in front of the Commander-In-Chief." He was rewarded with a tight smile that wasn't quite the one he was used to. "Roger that."

Finally, she softened, the bristling authority bleeding from her shoulders with an audible sigh. Her hand smoothed the shirt on his chest, her gaze falling to study the small wrinkles.

"I can't stop thinking about what would've happened if you'd gotten hurt today," she said, her voice low. "Because of me."

He brushed his hands across her shoulder blades, stepping into her. "Sam…"

"And then when I heard him trying to make it your job, your _duty_." She spat the word, as though its taste made her nauseous. "To die for me…" Her eyes closed, dispelling the negative thoughts with a shake of her head. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean for you to see that."

"Hey," he said, catching her chin to get her to look at him. "Don't apologize. Family is family. He's right to worry about you." He smirked. "And it was kinda hot to watch you defending my virtue like that."

She snorted, a sound that then turned into a full-fledged laugh. _Score_. She shoved at him playfully, to which he responded by pulling her into a full-bodied hug. She wrapped her arms around him, burying her face in his chest. He felt his shirt dampen slightly as it dried the tears that she'd refused to let fall. But when she pulled away, her eyes were clear and her lips curled into a smile.

"You hungry?" she asked. His stomach answered for itself, releasing a rolling grumble that made her laugh. "Let's go to the kitchen then. Frankie makes a mean pastrami sandwich."

Jack's brow arched as he followed her tugging guidance. "He's allowed to work in the White House with a name like Frankie?"

"What?"

"That's an old-school Mafia name right there." He offered a vaguely iconic expression. "_No, no, no, no… Frankie's going south._"

Sam giggled. "_Francesca_ is a world class chef. She even trained with an Iron Chef."

Jack chose to overlook his gender assumption. "Really? Which one?"

"Why don't you ask her?"


	8. Chapter 8

_A/N: Here it is! After all, it is that time of the week. New update! Woohoo! Now, it is a holiday week, so I may or may not post doubly early between now and Friday. *shrug* What happens will happen... :evil grin:  
_

_Enjoy!  
_

* * *

The air turned crisp with fall, and for a few short weeks the city exploded into rich autumn colors. Sunsets were just a little more golden, breaths a little bit paler. Flocks of geese launched into flight, wisely leaving for warmer climes. Through it all, Jack kept himself warm by contemplating his future.

Come spring, Sam would graduate and move on. He already knew she'd received dozens of offers from universities around the world—some for her diplomatic skills, others for her prodigious brain power. She was a shoo-in for valedictorian, blowing the curve in every class. Jack knew it was only a matter of time before he too was left behind.

He began to pursue positions on other bases, but so far hadn't committed to a single one. He had time yet, and would have more than enough options to choose from with the recommendations from his current superiors. But he armed himself with the keen knowledge that he would not remain in DC without her.

But for now, he was content with the time he had, and with the drop in temperature came the new excuse for snuggling close. That was how he found himself sitting with his back up against a tree one brisk afternoon, Sam sitting between his knees to lean against his chest as they gazed at the lateral image of the Washington Monument in the reflecting pool. The ground was cold, after all. Sharing body heat was key for survival.

The afternoon was quiet, with few people walking the pebbled causeway around the National Mall. They hadn't said much today. Sam seemed off in her thoughts, and since she wasn't busy scribbling down notes or anything, he figured it was safe to let her be. But it gave him too much time with his own thoughts, and when he stumbled on a memory, he began to speak before he could think better of it.

"Sam?" he murmured softly. "Can I ask you something?"

"Mmmm?" she was sleepy-sounding, peaceful and content.

"When I met your dad, you said you knew what kind of man he approved of." And just like that, the peace was shattered. She tensed in his arms, shifting uncomfortably. But he'd started it—he had to finish. Didn't he? "What did you mean?"

"Jack…"

"Please, Sam…" _Don't shut me out._ His greatest fear was that someone had hurt her. It didn't matter if it had happened before he'd met her. He needed to know.

She took a deep breath. "Before Dad won the election, when he was still a Senator… His election manager was concerned about the image I was presenting."

"What does _that_ mean?"

"Mom was still with us, and Mark was… around. So at first glance, we fit the bill as the perfect American family. Mom, Dad, older brother, younger sister. But if you looked deeper, the specifics ruined the effect."

"I don't understand…"

"Mark wasn't a very good student," she elaborated. "He was into sports, but was never really good enough to be a starter. He tried, at first, but when he saw me skipping grades, he gave it up. Fell into a bad crowd…" She snorted in derision. "Which in my father's world meant they were loners, content to fade into the background. They didn't do drugs or anything, or go around committing crimes… but they were listless, unimpassioned… and for anyone looking in from the outside, it didn't really inspire confidence."

"I don't see how that has to do with you."

"Dad's campaign manager came to me one day… told me to hold back. To not do so well in class so that Mark would have the chance to shine."

Jack blinked, then turned his head to look at her. She didn't move and so he regarded her profile. "What? Are they _stupid_?"

"I didn't know until later that Dad hadn't been in on it. He didn't even know his manager had spoken to me, but I was angry, so… I started skipping class. I would show up to take the exams, but nothing else. I found a group of kids who didn't care who my father was, or how smart I was."

Jack's brows lifted. "That doesn't sound so bad." But he sensed there was a catch.

"They were also the kids with tattoos and multiple piercings." She was grinning now. He could see the bulge in her cheeks as he looked at her profile. "Spent more time working on their bikes than they did in class."

"So _that_'_s_ how you learned engines."

She nodded. "The auto shop in town was our local haunt, I guess. They had a blatant irreverence to authority that rubbed my father the wrong way, which made them perfect for me."

"What happened then?"

"Well, Mark got pissed that I was still managing to blow the bell curve as a truant, and my teachers got concerned when they tried to corner me about my behavior and all I would say was 'talk to my father'."

"Uh oh."

"Mmhmm. Well, they did, and the truth came out. The campaign manager was fired and things returned to normal. But the damage had been done."

"Your grades?"

"Oh no... my grades were fine. My teachers were lenient when they found out the whole story." There was a note of confidence that hinted she'd been a teacher's pet, but a moment later it disappeared as her gaze darkened once more. She sighed. "Dad was down in the polls, and the local papers were convinced I was a budding delinquent. We needed something to take their attention off what had happened."

Jack stayed silent, sensing they were coming to the crux of it.

"Dad found a boy for me. Thought if it looked like I had settled down a bit, and with an all-American guy like Jonas, the polls would improve." She shrugged. "I wasn't going to give him the time of day. But my mom, she asked me to at least meet him, make my dad happy."

"Did you?"

"Yeah. And he was… nice. And handsome, and chivalrous. He had this sense of humor that… It was different from yours, but… you laughed anyway." She leaned back against Jack's chest, slumping slightly as she drew into herself. "He was opinionated, and so well-informed compared to everyone else our age. And he had this way of speaking that just drew you in… He could say anything at all and for that one moment you would find yourself agreeing for no reason at all. Not because they were off the same mindset, but because when he talked it was like he was the only thing that existed. He was a charmer, and he used it to his benefit more than once."

Jack considered that for a moment. "So what was so wrong with him?"

"He wouldn't shut up."

The deadpan might have been funny at any other moment, but not now. Not with her body tense against his and her words so strained. To anyone else, she might have sounded normal, with her even cant and unwavering voice, but he knew better.

"We could go out to dinner, and at the end of the night I'd go home having not said a single word." She sighed. "We ended up seeing each other a lot, though we never put a label on it. At least, I didn't. And there were… other things."

"Like what?"

"He was controlling. Or tried to be. He would drive me everywhere… home from school, to and from soccer practice. I thought he was just being sweet, because I didn't have a car yet. But then I got my driver's license and I went by his place to pick him up as a surprise. He…" She trailed off, then pulled in a breath to continue. "He didn't appreciate it. I guess that was my wake up call. After that, I started noticing other things."

Jack's gut had hardened into a lead brick. Her tone had darkened, thickening to the point that he could hear the tears threatening to spill. It scared him. "Sam… did—did he hurt you?"

She shook her head, but there was a moment of hesitation that made his heart lurch.

"He tried something one night, when we were alone. He wanted to take our relationship further, and wasn't taking no for an answer." His grip tightened on Sam, pulling her reflexively closer. She patted his arm comfortingly. "I broke his nose."

Jack blinked, then snickered. "That's my girl."

"But," she continued, her voice dark once more, "when he was released from the hospital that night, he had to take a bus home. And, at the bus stop…" She paused, almost shaking. Jack could hear the tears in her voice, the tumult of emotion threatening to overcome her. "He beat and raped a girl who was waiting for the same bus."

Oh, god… Jack wasn't naïve enough to think the two incidents weren't irrevocably intertwined, that the girl at the bus stop wasn't a cheap substitute for the real target of his rage. "Sam…"

"She had blonde hair and blue eyes, Jack," she whispered, shaking in his hold. He was too little, too late. There was no chance of him trying to suggest it was just coincidence. She'd long come to the conclusion that guy had been dangerous, and that she had narrowly missed being the victim of a horrifying act of violence.

Jack swallowed. "So… the agreement with your dad…"

"He keeps out of my love life, well intentioned or otherwise, and I don't bring home anyone with a tongue piercing."

There was bitterness in her voice, clear and distinctive. It was evident what she thought about the grave misconceptions her father ascribed to, and it was the biggest way Sam differed from her father. While she judged and valued as much as Jacob Carter did, she did so on the personality and actions of a person, not their appearance.

Her father had made incorrect assumptions about a person who, at least on the surface, had seemed the ideal partner for his daughter, but had clearly demonstrated that he was anything but. A guy with a tongue ring could have been the next Messiah, but the President would have only ever seen the metal stud between his teeth.

Jack understood, now, why Sam had gone on such a defensive when her father had cornered him. Jack had a hard time believing that Jacob Carter had knowingly pushed a violent psychopath into his daughter's arms, but with that one mistake he had torn an irreparable rift between himself and his daughter, at least where her dating life was concerned.

Now the fear she harbored for the man her dad had vouched for, and the guilt she undoubtedly carried with her for the pain suffered by that girl on the bus stop, would always linger in the shadow of her father's attempt to meddle in her life.

"What happened to him?"

"Jonas?" Her voice twisted, as if the name was a bad taste in her mouth. "Last I heard, he got a full military scholarship to Northwestern."

"_What?"_

"The girl refused to press charges," Sam said, her tone almost mournful. "And his parents had enough influence to make sure there wasn't so much as a smudge on his record for it."

"But your dad knew the truth, didn't he?"

Sam nodded. "He and my mom were both horrified. It was Mom who made Dad promise to butt out. The agreement was her idea."

Jack decided he already liked the woman. For several long moments, they sat quietly, letting the peace of the day settle over them once more. The cool air wasn't quite all-healing, but it seemed to act as a temporary balm for the old wounds Jack had unwittingly re-opened.

"I wish you could've met her," Sam said softly, her voice low and tender.

"Me too," he returned warmly. "She sounds like an amazing lady."

"She was," Sam told him quietly. Her hand gripped his wrist, drawing strength from the contact. "You know… she's actually part of the reason I decided to come with Dad, and act as First Lady. Because it should have been her. She would have made the world a better place, and if someone had come in and done a horrible job, the world would never have known what she was like. I—" Her voice trembled, but she swallowed the tears creeping into her voice. "I try to be how she would've been, so that the world would know how kind she was. How caring and beautiful she was."

She fell quiet, her breaths shallow against his chest. Her hand left his arm to swipe at her dripping nose. "Pretty stupid, huh?"

"No," he assured her. "No, it's not." He took a deep breath, the cool air laced with the scent of her shampoo, before pressing a kiss to her head. "If she was anything like you, then the world would have been doubly blessed."

Her chin rested on his wrist. "You think so?" He voice was small, fragile with a self-doubt he'd never heard before. It damn near broke his heart.

"I know so," he stated firmly. "Whoever your mom was, or would have been… Who _you_ are is what's making the world a better place now. And we're lucky to have you."

He held her close when her silent tears finally began to fall.


	9. Chapter 9

_A/N: Because it's a holiday, and let's face it... I like any excuse to post early. :) This chapter is kind of for the wrong holiday, but you'll see the patriotic parallels. Go USA! (For our non-American compatriots, I send you yummy barbeque and fireworks vibes. Who doesn't like good food and chemical light shows?)_

_And while there's good vibes now, when the Olympics start up later this month it's on like Donkey Kong. You all better be ready! Heheheh...  
_

_Enjoy!  
_

* * *

Come Christmastime, Sam was sucked into a whirlwind of meetings, functions, and service projects, and Jack was lucky if he got a phone call from her every couple of days. He didn't mind though.

He helped out, sometimes, when she went to feed the homeless, or visit the children's shelter, and when she did call she was rife with stories about the shenanigans of the Viscount whatever, and Delegate So-and-So. She was a riot, with her exaggerated affectations as she voice-acted the roles of whichever socialite who'd made a fool of themselves. And she was never more effusive than when she told him about the development of her newest mentorship program for the foster kids, which was gearing up to implement for the start of the new year.

One night, two weeks out from Christmas, she coolly announced that she was going to the Middle East for the holiday. His mind immediately jumped to gilded palaces and sequestered women, but then nearly choked on his tongue when Sam neatly informed him that she was going to visit the troops.

"_What?_"

"Don't worry, it's perfectly safe," she said cheerily. He refrained from contradicting her. _Perfectly safe_was not the term he would use to describe the Middle East. "And it's something I really want to do."

"Why?" A small part of him was more curious than shocked. Her mind worked in such mysterious ways sometimes, and he wondered what had sparked the sudden mission…

"Well, I was thinking how lucky I was that you were stationed at Andrews, you know, safe from harm… and then I realized that there are a lot of people who don't have that kind of reassurance. And all the servicemen and women overseas, sacrificing their own holidays, and, well…"

He was officially no longer surprised. With everything else she had on her plate lately, it was no wonder she hadn't given much thought to the Armed Forces. But now that she had considered them, he could expect no less than for her to do something about it. That was just who she was.

And he felt a bone-deep gratitude spark inside him, because even though he himself had no one to go home to, he was starting to feel the lack of family as the city descended into its Christmas haze. He'd hoped to spend Christmas Eve with her, but he couldn't begrudge her this. This was so much better.

"And of course, I had to wonder what it would be like if you _were_ over there with them, and I figured that this would be what I'd want most for you."

_Son of a.._. A lump rose to his throat, and after a few tries he managed to swallow it down. "You got something cool planned?"

He could hear her smile over the line. "I think so. I've already made all the plans, and they said it was going to be ready by the time I get there."

"You know…" His voice hummed in his throat. "A lot of bases broadcast the USO trips for the guys stationed stateside too."

"Really?" Her voice brightened audibly.

"Oh, yeah," he affirmed, nodding though she wouldn't hear it over the phone. He knew she'd hear his grin though, just as he had hers. "I'll definitely be watching."

* * *

Christmas Eve came, and Jack looked forward to it with equal parts excitement and apprehension. He worried—how could he not? Iraq, while safer than it was a few years ago, was still dangerous. But at the same time, he knew she was doing the right thing.

Not only did the men and women missing their families deserve it, but he knew that Sam would never be content until she put forth the effort, made the difference.

So as the evening settled, and the base fell quiet as people went home to their families, Jack returned to the barracks, where the Spartan lounge had temporarily been transformed into a winter wonderland, and settled in with the rest of the guys to watch the Christmas special.

They suffered through a Claymation Rudolf, spending the most of the hour making dirty jokes about Bouncing Bumbles, but fell quiet when an ebullient fanfare announced the start of the much-anticipated USO Christmas special.

The camera panned across a large pavilion, open-sided but filled from floor to ceiling with risers filled with servicemen and women from all the branches. They sat proudly, backs straight and hands on their knees, with only a gleam in their eyes to betray their jolly moods.

A booming voice announced the presentation of the colors, and as a solid, single unit they rose to their feet to salute the flag they'd sworn their lives to defend and protect. Jack and his fellow viewers rose as well, backs stiff with respect. When they were seated once more, the base CO spoke a few gruff, but heartfelt words. Upon finishing, he relinquished both podium and stage to the Guest of Honor.

Sam was relaxed in a festive but tasteful red dress, her hair up in an elegant twist that gave her years beyond her time. As soon as the spotlight was on her she smiled, and Jack was struck by how beautiful she looked. She was happy, and he was infinitely grateful that he had supported her in this—in what little way he could.

"Good evening," she said warmly, the microphone squealing slightly as it adjusted to her voice.

"_Good evening, ma'am!"_ the crowd thundered back, the words crisp with unique precision.

Sam blinked, her smile growing. "Wow. How many times did you have to practice that one?" Her joke earned her a few chortles. If only she knew, Jack thought to himself. Some Marine Gunny probably had them doing it over and over again for an hour before Sam even showed up.

"The first thing I'd like to say is, Happy Holidays," she continued. Her eyes scanned the crowd. "The second is: Thank you for your service. That might be something all of you hear a lot, often from people who have no idea what it means to serve. Now, I realize that I fall into that category as well…"

This was said with a wider grin that elicited another, louder laugh, and even one ballsy soldier shouting, "_We don't mind!_"

"Thank you," she returned warmly, looking out towards the vague direction of the soldier's voice. "But while I may not know what it's like to spend months or years in the world's most volatile combat zones, I do have a unique perspective. In my travels around the world, I have been able to see what can happen when a nation's Army is not as selfless, its Air Force not as keen-minded, the Navy not as vigilant. When the Marine Corps does not exist."

Her voice had sobered, and while her lips had settled into a grim line, her eyes remained bright. "I have seen horrible slums, ravaged by violence and rape. I have seen villages emptied by the threat of massacre, a country's children orphaned by war."

A heavy quiet lingered, and Jack felt himself leaning forward, eager to hear what was poised on her lips. His breath caught in his chest, and he could feel the silence in the barracks common, knowing it was mirrored thousands of miles away, in the middle of a combat zone.

"And so I thank you," she continued, "from the bottom of my heart, for guarding us against the horrors of those wars. For making the sacrifice so that our people know only peace."

Silence answered her, and the camera passed over the audience, who sat wordlessly, drinking her in.

"Which is why when my peers rolled their eyes, _totally_ bummed on my behalf that I won't be joining them on the beach—" she embellished with a roll of her eyes and hair flick that was distinctly teenager, breaking the somber tension as the audience chuckled, the mood instantly lightened, "I couldn't find the words to correct them. How could I explain that this trip was not the chore they believed it to be, but a blessing? How could they understand that I am lucky to have this _incredible_ opportunity to truly thank each and every one of you for everything you've done for us?"

Her expression, while still pleasant, was solemn with honesty as she communicated her gratitude. But suddenly she smiled again, her eyes sparkling with delight.

"Thank you, airmen. Thank you, sailors. Thank you, soldiers, and thank you, Marines. You are the best of us, and we owe your our gratitude." Her blonde head nodded, once. "You will always have mine."

The crowd was silent for only a heartbeat before erupting into wild applause. One by one they stood, enthusiastic and—as Jack couldn't help but notice— in awe of the woman who had single-handedly won their respect and admiration.

When they settled down once more, Sam continued. "Now that the speeches are over and done with, I'm pleased to announce that the USO has graciously arranged some amazing entertainment for tonight. Unfortunately, they're still setting up in the building next door, so in the meantime, I've arranged for something to help bide the time."

The audience clapped, hooting and hollering in anticipation.

"In the past many of you have been lucky enough to see performances from some of the biggest names in today's music industry, and tonight will be no different, but first I have something a little different for you. It is the holidays, after all, and I'm sure that each of you celebrate by observing traditions with your friends and family. Since you can't be with them tonight, I wanted to share one of my own traditions with you."

She eyed them, as if daring them to say something. When they didn't, she continued. "Every year my family watches the film _White Christmas_..."

Jack swallowed reflexively. In listening to her, one might never guess that her family was broken. That her family was now just her and her father. Well, and him. Jack was decidedly presumptuous enough to count himself among the lucky ones.

"Don't worry," she continued. "I'm not going to ask you to watch it— I know how some people feel about Irving Berlin." Laughter. "But for me the song has always brought me the warmth of memories, remembering the love of nights around a fire, surrounded by family and friends. Tonight, I hope you find the same peace that I do…"

Her words trailed off as the lights dimmed. A screen descended behind her, and as the first strains of the classic song drifted from the speakers, the screen was illuminated with stock footage of an American flag waving against a grey sky, with soft, fat snowflakes floating past it.

_**We stay warm at home tonight**__,_ a flowing script read, superimposed on the video, _**but not without a price.**_

The words faded, and then the flag darkened to black.

_**To our men and women serving around the world, we salute you.**_

And then Bing's voice softly began to croon, the sound almost eclipsed by the crackling white noise as a fuzzy home video flickered into being. A loaded Christmas tree stood in the background of the recorded room, but focus was drawn to the toddler stumbling towards the camera, a sweet slobbering smile on his lips.

"_Merry Christmas, Daddy_," he uttered in mumbling, uncertain speech. "_I love you_."

The kid offered a wet grin as the camera flipped around to show a young woman, clearly his mother. "_Our flyboy is serving in Kandahar, Afghanistan_," she declared, her features both mournful and proud. "_We miss you, baby, but tonight you're right here with us_." Her hand came up to rest over her heart. "_We love you, sweetheart. Stay safe for us_."

Then the scene cut to an elderly couple, cradling the service photo of a young man in their arms. "_Our grandson died in Fallujah, Iraq seven months ago. To the men of 2__nd__ Marine Battalion, 5__th__ Regiment, thank you, and stay warm this holiday._"

Twin girls next, reciting The Night Before Christmas for their mother on base. A sister then, reaching out to her brother. A wounded vet, to the battalion still overseas without him.

It went on and on, all while the song provided a soothing counterpoint. Even when the camera scanned the crowd, the voices of the video remained strong and clear, feeding Jack and his companions words of love, warmth, and gratitude as their deployed peers watched transfixed, starry-eyed with tears.

The messages didn't mention a single name. It was anyone's father, anyone's daughter, wishing each and every one of them to stay safe, stay happy. Reminding them that they were loved.

Jack was no exception to the high emotions running through the crowd. He forced himself not to blink, so that the tears clouding his vision would not fall and give him away. The messages eventually drew quiet, replaced by images of smiling men and women in uniform, among themselves or with their families. They flashed on the screen as Bing's volume was turned up, giving them one last chorus before what had to be a finale.

The camera panned back until the entire pavilion could be seen, with the sea of audience motionless before the stage.

At first, Jack thought the drifting specks of white onscreen were just the broadcast feed going bad. But then the audience started looking up in wonder, holding their hands up as if it were raining. The scene cut to a young private halfway up the bleachers, head back and tongue outstretched, and suddenly Jack understood what Sam had done.

She had brought snow to Iraq. Snow, and their families, as close as they could possibly get. They couldn't go home for Christmas, so Sam had brought Christmas to them. A white Christmas.

The audience cheered in delight, rising from their seats as their excitement grew. More than a few—almost a hundred that Jack could see—had their arms about the others' shoulders, swaying as they sang along to the classic holiday tune.

Focus then shifted to Sam, still standing off to the side, her grin wider than he'd ever seen before. Her plan had been a wild success, and she knew it.

As if she felt the camera's attention, blue eyes met the lens' gaze, and for an immeasurable moment, she was looking directly at Jack. When her shining eyes crinkled as she mouthed an inaudible _Merry Christmas_, Jack knew with every fiber of his being that it was for _him_, and him alone.

Then the camera pulled back again for the finale, and then the music lifted into a boisterous crescendo before cutting off with dramatic finality. A split second, and then the crowd surged into roaring applause.

Sam shook the hands of grateful, teary-eyed Generals and Sergeants Major, but then descended from the stage to mingle with the junior officers and enlisted personnel. Shaking hands and receiving hugs and hands on her shoulders, soldiers jostled as politely as they could, eager to be close to her. She was magnetic, and among so many, she was nearly swamped.

_Geordie must be having a heart attack_, Jack thought to himself.

"Hard to believe, huh?"

Jack blinked, startled from his thoughts. "What?" He looked up at Benson, who had claimed the sofa next to him.

"I said, she hardly looks like a high school student. She's only what—16? 17? She's got better bearing than most Generals. Hard to believe it, huh?"

Jack lifted his features into a shrug. "You have no idea."

When Sam came by to visit two days later, the first thing she did was show him the crowded group photograph of more than three dozen service men and women, each bright eyed and rosy-cheeked as they tried to out-grin the blue-eyed blonde encompassed at the heart of them.


	10. Chapter 10

_A/N: So, here we go! Another chapter up and ready to go! I hope you guys like it! This is the start of the build up to the finale. It's gonna be awesome!_

_Enjoy!_

* * *

Jack paced the street outside their appointed café, a crisp envelope tight between his fingers. Tension coiled in his gut, torn between apprehension and excitement. He froze when he saw the car pull up, and Sam was almost out of the backseat before Ronica could come around to scope things out.

"Jack!" She bounded up to him, hurriedly hugging him before drawing back, her eyes big with anticipation. "What's going on? You sounded so urgent on the phone… Is something wrong?"

He offered a sheepish smile. "No… I don't think so." He handed her the letter, caving to his inability to verbalize. "Here," he grunted.

She opened it, and spent a few moments reading its contents. Her eyes widened as she read, then brightened when she broke into an elated grin. "Oh, my god! _Jack!_ You were accepted into the Air Force Academy?"

Jack nodded, breaking into a ready grin. How could he imagine she'd be anything less than excited for him? "Yeah. I start this fall, with the new term."

With a sharp yelp of joy she launched herself at him, wrapping her arms around him in a fierce hug. He caught her with an _oomph_ and then fought to catch his breath against the tight hold she had on his ribs. But he wasn't complaining.

"Jack, this is amazing!" she pulled back. "I didn't even know you had applied! Why didn't you tell me?"

He shrugged, suddenly sheepish. "I dunno… I guess, if it didn't work out, I'd have rather you think I was a slacker than know I didn't make the cut."

A sharp finger jabbed him in the ribs. "First of all, there's nothing you could do or say to ever convince me that you're a slacker. I know you too well by now. And secondly, even if you had been rejected, I wouldn't think any less of you."

She probably wouldn't. After all, she'd met him when he was just some bitter guy riding on a lawn mower all day. But he'd care. He'd know he hadn't been good enough for the Academy, and therefore, not good enough for her. This way, he could at least begin to close the distance between them.

He answered her with a kiss, grinning as she giggled against his lips. "I'm so proud of you."

And that meant more to him than anything the letter said.

* * *

Spring came quickly that year, and with it heat of summer proportions. By May, Washingtonians darted from building to building as fast as they could, thirsting for the air conditioning that kept them from melting into puddles on the street. But Jack suffered through it as often as necessary, doing his best to spend as much time with Sam as they could manage.

Her final exams were just getting underway, but they both knew that this summer would be the same as the last—political functions and ceremonies abroad, only this time they didn't have the reassurance of having the coming fall together. In August he would be relocating to Colorado, and Sam had yet to announce which university she'd selected. She'd promised to tell him, and the rest of the world, on the day of her graduation.

So he stood in the shade of a towering oak tree just outside the campus of the high school, sweating through his civvies as he waited for Sam. She'd agreed to meeting him for dinner, but the appointed time had passed almost 45 minutes ago. He tried to be offended, really he did, but he knew all too well how absorbed she became in an experiment—which he knew was her preoccupation, having heard all about it the night before. In his mind's eye, she was hunched over a computer, her brow furrowed as she struggled to put the pieces together.

His attempts to be slighted were thwarted by how damn cute she looked in his head. So he waited patiently, knowing that Geordie would be moving her along before too long. In way, Ronica and her partner had become Jack's wingmen, gently reminding her that she had a date.

"O'Neill!"

Jack looked up at the shout, finding Bill Meyers waving at him from the guardhouse. "Hey, Bill," he called back.

"You nuts, O'Neill? What're you doing standing around in this heat? Come over and say hello to an old man where it's nice and cool, eh?"

Jack grinned, and loped over to the post. Bill was a retired vet, and the most friendly of the school's employees. They'd gotten friendly while Jack had worked on the grounds, and their rapport had continued as Jack had spent many an afternoon waiting for Sam. Bill was pretty cool, for an old guy.

"How's it goin' Bill?" he said, as soon as he stepped into the air conditioned hut.

"Well, the knees are acting up again," Bill returned, easing himself back into his chair. "So's the back, and the shoulder. So not too bad, really." The gentleman bared a rakish grin. "And you? Still holding doors for our venerable First Lady?"

Jack grinned. "You bet. Amazing she hasn't kicked me to the curb yet, huh?"

Bill considered it. "Maybe not," he responded pensively. "Seems to me she's the kind of girl who don't let go of something she wants until she's good and ready."

"S'pose that's true." An easy quiet fell between them for a few short moments. "Got accepted to the Air Force Academy." He'd told Bill of his intentions back when he'd first started bouncing the idea around.

"Did you, now?" Bill broke into an approving smile. "That's a smart decision, son. And quite an accomplishment."

"Thanks." A pause. "I go in the fall."

Bill regarded him for a long moment. "Am I sensing cold feet?"

Jack shook his head. "Nah. It's the best move; makes sense for me."

"But you're gonna miss her, ain't yah?" Jack didn't answer. "Ain't nothing to be ashamed of. I know I'm gonna be missing that girl when she graduates next month. But it's gotta happen, don't it? It's the natural way of things, y'see?"

Jack blinked, staring down at his toes as a grin tickled his lips. "Yeah. Yeah, I guess—"

His voice trailed off abruptly as a low tremble suddenly shook the guard house. It grew in intensity, until Jack's hand gripped the window ledge out of reflex against the tremor. The window A/C unit squeaked and rattled in place, almost shaking loose of its screws at the tumultuous motion. When it died, as smoothly as it had come, Jack looked to Bill in alarm.

"Detonation?" he asked, though he instinctively knew that wasn't it. The shaking had been too prolonged, too uniform. Bombs were quick and fast, not the steady rumble they'd just experienced.

Sure enough, Bill shook his head, already rising to his feet. "Earthquake."

"_In DC?_"

"I spent the first 21 years of my life in San Francisco, son. That right there was an honest-to-God earthquake." He grabbed the radio pinned to his shoulder, turning to speak into it. "All units be advised: We are now Code Yellow."

Jack's eyes widened. "An evac? You said it was an earthquake!"

"The whole damn campus is an antique. A quake that size coulda caused structural damage in every foundation on the grounds. Aftershock could damn well bring one or all of them down."

Jack whipped out his cellphone, but calling Sam's cell got him nothing but an error signal. He cursed, even as he belatedly acknowledged that the whole damn city would have had his same thought. Every single person in the tri-state area was trying to check in on their loved ones as they feared the worst. The cell towers weren't meant for that kind of call volume.

He quickly moved from the hut, pressing close to the gate as it opened, his eyes glued to the building he knew housed the labs. It was one of the tallest on campus.

"You can't go on campus, son," Bill told him.

"Bill—"

"Don't add to the confusion," he was told. "She's got good people looking out for her. They'll keep her safe. Let them come to you."

Jack forced himself to obey, torn between his need to get to her and not wanting to cause trouble for Bill. But the decision was made for him when the ground shook again, but this time longer, and more violently. This wasn't just an aftershock. Jack knew it in his gut, and was confirmed when Bill cursed beside him, stumbling in place.

The lab building quaked on its foundations, then in a symphony of chaos the stone and mortar exterior crumbled, a fault line arcing from ground to roof in a deafening series of crackles. Columns of windows shattered as the building tore apart, then tilted alarmingly. For a heart-stopping moment it listed, motionless, then collapsed in an explosion of dust and flying debris.

"BILL!"

"Go!" the old man shouted, throwing policy out the window. "Rescue's on the way!"

Jack was already sprinting through the gates, his eyes glued to the patch of vacant sky where the building had been standing just moments ago. Through panting breaths he stared at the growing pillar of dust, praying to God, any god, that Geordie had gotten her out in time.


	11. Chapter 11

_A/N: Here we go! It's a little early yet, but this is a tad longer than usual, so I wanted to give you guys some more time to read it. :)_

_Enjoy!  
_

* * *

"Sam!" Jack darted among the scattering students and faculty, ignoring the cries of alarm and confusion as he closed in on the collapsed building. "Geordie!" He could barely see through the spreading cloud of dust and dirt, but almost dared to hope when he spied a slender silhouette through the murky air. "Sam?"

He moved closer as the shape turned towards his voice. He heard coughing then a familiar voice that made his heart leap, then plummet with false hope. "Jack?"

"Ronnie," Jack said, his voice forcibly calm. "Ronica… where's Sam?"

The Secret Service agent shook her head, dazed. "I came out the front, trying to recon the situation…" She coughed, trying to clear the grit from her throat. "Geordie was taking her out the back stairwell…"

Jack immediately made for where the stairs in question used to be. It had been reduced to little more than a pile of rubble, jumbled and broken into slants of concrete and tangled metal. He skirted the edge of the site until he believed himself in the right vicinity, then carefully began to pick his way through the debris.

"Sam!" Jack moved as quickly as he dared, stepping lightly among treacherous footholds. "Sam!"

A groan answered him, off to his right, then a strangled cough as someone fought to breathe. "_Jack…_"

"SAM!" He adjusted his course, veering towards the sound of her voice. "Sam, I'm coming! Just hold on!"

"…_Jack_…" Oh god. Her voice stabbed him like a knife. She could be pinned, or crushed, or—

"I'm almost there!" he shouted. "I'm coming!"

Anything to keep her calm, keep her talking… keep her breathing.

And there she was, a tuft of blonde hair barely visible beneath a pile of rubble. Her face and a single hand was all he could see, the rest of her obscured by rock and the lifeless form that lay over her. Protecting her.

_Jesus._

"Geordie…" Sam tried to turn her head to look at her friend, but couldn't. "Jack… I think—I think Geordie's hurt… Can you see him? Help him… please…"

Jack's throat constricted painfully. She sounded disoriented, but he knew she could hear him… but how was he supposed to tell her that Geordie was beyond help?

The exposed rebar that had driven itself deep into the man's skull was disturbingly still, save for the faint twitch as Sam writhed beneath her guardian. The front of Geordie's skull was the only barrier that still stood between the exposed end and Sam's head. If Geordie had been anywhere else, Sam would be… Jack banished the thought. That kind of thinking wouldn't do anyone any good right now.

Jack felt Ronica approach, and looked up to see her swallow her anguish, her role as lone guardian taking precedence before the grief she felt for her partner. Sam was her priority.

"Jack…?"

"Sam, I need you to tell me if anything hurts," he said, drawing her attention away from the weight on her back. "Can you move your fingers? Toes?"

There was a quiet moment, then a groan of pain. "No," she gasped, tears pouring down her cheeks. "My hand… my right hand. Hurts to move… I think— it's pinned."

Jack glanced at Ronica, who nodded and softly relayed the information to the rescue team just beginning to arrive. "All right, Sam. Good. Anything else?"

"It… It hurts to breathe." He knew that already, could hear it in her voice. "My head… Can't—can't think…"

There was blood trailing from beneath her hair, tracing a path under her cheek and along the line of her jaw. She could have a concussion, Jack knew, at the very least.

"S'plosion?" The word travelled up to him, making him shake his head.

"No, earthquake. A bad one."

She blinked, the movement heavy and sluggish. Definitely a concussion. "Anyone else…?"

"I don't know, Sam." He didn't care about anyone else. He wouldn't, until she was safe in the hospital. "Sam?" She didn't answer, and his heart lurched. "_Sam!_"

"Jack?" _Oh, thank god. _Jack heaved a sigh of relief, focusing on her thread voice. "Sorry… I was late…"

Jack took a deep breath, shoving away his moment of panic. "It's okay, Sam. You know I don't mind when you do that scientist thing."

A trace of a dusty smile graced her lips, pale and dry in the hot sun. "…love you, Jack."

Jack froze. "_No_. Don't you dare. You're going to be fine, okay?"

"Jack…" Her voice somehow sounded amused. "S'okay. Jus' sayin'…"

Oh. Right. Jack then felt an electric jolt as he realized what had just transpired. "I love you too, Sam."

"I know." Her whisper turned into a cough, and he carefully reached down to grasp her free hand. It was gritty with dust, but her skin was reassuringly warm. "…known f'r a while," she continued, in little more than a rasp. "But it's… nice t'hear."

"How're your thoughts?" he asked softly.

By his observation, she sounded more aware, and was stringing together more than three words, which he took as a good sign. But that would only last for as long as he could keep her focused on him, away from the body sprawled atop her, and even then he heard the slur in her voice, indicative of a concussion. She needed medical help, and fast.

"Better… 'M not scared anymore." Her fingers tightened on his ever so slightly, and he squeezed back. "Jack… did Geordie g'out?"

Jack's heart sank. "No."

"D'you find him? He okay?"

"Don't worry about Geordie, Sam," he urged. "I promise, when we find him, he'll be the first we get out."

It wasn't a lie. They would have to get Geordie out before they could get to her. And while he hoped she wouldn't remember any of this conversation, he would make sure he followed through on his promise.

"Excuse me," a new voice sounded behind him. Jack turned to see a paramedic, gear in hand, looking at him expectantly. "I need to get where you are…"

Jack moved, carefully, but didn't remove his hand from hers. He glared adamantly at the fire chief, who came into view as the paramedic got to work.

"We need you to clear the area," the man delivered evenly. "This place is unstable—"

"Then stabilize it," Jack bit back. "But you'll have to do it around me, because I'm not leaving."

For a long moment, Jack and the chief faced off, the silence only broken when the medic leaned down towards Sam. "What was that, ma'am?"

"_Please_," Jack heard, his attention returning to Sam. "Please, let him stay…"

She sounded scared, desperation creeping back into her voice. The medic's features softened, then looked empathetically back to the chief. The chief held firm for an instant, then folded.

"All right." He turned back to his crew. "Let's get this place anchored, before—"

A rumbling groan rose up from beneath them, the pieces of rubble rattling as an aftershock hit. Sam gripped his hand, and Jack's heart lurched as the entire site shifted. Geordie's head tilted grotesquely, the rebar that killed him sliding deeper towards Sam's head.

The medic cursed, hands flying up to grip the rebar in a desperate effort to keep it still. Somehow, they got lucky as the tremor ended and the rubble settled once more, but the damage was done. The dust cleared around them, revealing Sam's pinched features and her death grip on his hand.

"Sam? What's wrong?"

She opened her eyes, bloodshot and terrified. "Can't…" It turned into a grunt as she fought to keep the air in her lungs. But she couldn't draw in more to replace what was lost. She squirmed, but whimpered when Geordie sank against her, his muscle-dense body pressing down on her as a literal dead weight.

"Don't try to move!" the medic told her, her voice smooth but hard. "Just stay still, and stay calm. We'll have you out soon…"

"She can't breathe," Jack said, his eyes frozen on the sight of her lips turning blue. "She can't breathe!"

The medic was already moving, placing a portable oxygen tank over Sam's mouth and nose. "We need some help over here!" she called, and as if on cue a firefighter appeared over her shoulder, picking his way through the mess, trying not to disturb the debris any further.

"I just got word from security," Ronica said, somewhere behind Jack. "Everyone else still on campus has been accounted for."

"Good," the chief said. "Let's get her out!"

Ronica's hand settled gently on Jack's shoulder. "They don't have to worry about anyone else who might've been stuck in the building," she explained, her voice low. "They can focus getting Sam out without risking others."

Jack nodded his thanks. But his words remained for Sam, grounding her as she threatened to slip away again as people worked around her. "It's gonna be okay, Sam. They're stabilizing the debris around you, they're almost done…"

"We've got blood," the medic said into her radio. "We need to get her out of here, now."

Jack griped her hand tightly, trying not to look at the blood that had appeared on the inside of Sam's oxygen mask.

"Just stay with me, Sam… Everything's going to be okay… Just hang in there… Stay with me…"

They got her out, but as soon as they did Jack wondered if maybe it'd have been better to leave her where she was. As soon as they'd removed the concrete slab pinning her—and Geordie—she'd started coughing, which had produced a flood of sticky red blood. The mask had come off as they'd loaded her shaking body onto a backboard, then a stretcher.

Jack had tried to get into the ambulance with her, but Ronica's hand stopped him. "My turn now," she said. She looked exhausted, but the edge was back in her demeanor, ready for action. Sam was her concern now, and she would follow through on her commitment to keep her safe.

The ragged woman clambered into the ambulance, muttering a "Bluebird en route" into her radio before the doors slammed shut. The vehicle surged into motion, leaving Jack in the steady hands of Bill the security guard.

"Come with me, son," a voice said, somewhere far off in Jack's awareness as he stared after the now wailing ambulance. "Let's get you cooled off."

He didn't feel the heat, which a few hours ago had been so unbearable. At Bill's mention of it, Jack realized that sweat had long since stopped pouring down his face, and when he took a step he faltered, dizzy, with only Bill's easy hands to keep him steady.

"Nice and slow, now…"

The ambulance sirens faded into the distance, and in its absence events blurred together. He was in Bill's little hut, sucking on a bottle of water. There was someone asking questions—he didn't know who, and he didn't know if they received their answers. Then he was answering his cellphone back in his barracks quarters, the windows outside dark with night.

"_She's still surgery_," Ronica's voice was telling him, tinny through the phone. "_That's all we know_."

"Where?"

"_I can't tell you that_."

Jack didn't have the heart, or the energy, to be outraged. "When can I see her?"

"_When she's released."_ She was parroting protocol, but at least she was operating under the assumption that Sam would recover. He wasn't sure he'd have been able to keep himself together if she hadn't. "_Jack, I have to go. I shouldn't have contacted you—"_

"I know," Jack returned. "Thanks, Ronnie."

The next day he was excused from duty, his CO having been informed of his role in the crisis of the day before. And so Jack's time remained his, disjointed and punctuated only in its passing by Ronica's updates.

"_She's out of surgery. Still critical…"_

"…_woke up. Disorientation…"_

"_Declared stable…"_

And then, almost a week later, his world restarted with the phone call he'd been praying for. "_She's been released_," Ronica delivered, her relief evident in the way the words came out in a breathy rush. Jack could hear her smile.

Jack leaned forward in his chair, the work on his desk forgotten. "That's great!"

"_Jack…_" Ronica's voice edged, suddenly serious once more. "_She's back in the White House, but you can't come here. Chief's orders. You'll have to wait until she's able to come meet you._"

"How long will that be?"

"_I don't know_," came the honest reply. "_She's barely mobile at this point…"_ Jack heard other voices in the background of the call, attracting her attention. "_I have to go…"_

The line went dead, and Jack was left adrift. The brief rush of relief faded, leaving him listless. He understood the protocol, the President's desire to maintain privacy, especially when the news had been playing footage of Sam being loaded onto an ambulance for days straight. Luckily the angle had been too long for Sam to be much more than a lump on a stretcher, but the frequency of its airing sickened Jack.

But despite all that, a part of him had hoped she'd call for him the moment she was able. That he would be sent for once the Secret Service had called the all clear. But she hadn't. And Ronica would have told him if she had, even if protocol demanded he keep his distance.

A tiny seed of doubt stirred in his mind, making his stomach shift uneasily. Something was wrong, something deeper than the obvious. He just didn't know what.

* * *

Ten days. It took ten days for Ronica to call him again. Ten days of Jack trying to pick up the phone, typing in the familiar number to call her instead, but repeatedly thinking better of it.

The call came late at night, long after lights out. But Jack answered, unable to sleep and already waiting for the call.

"_Jack…_" Ronica sounded tired, hesitant… apprehensive.

"What's wrong?"

A sigh scratched across the line. "_It's Sam_."

"Is she all right? Is she back in the hospital?"

"_No. Not yet, anyway_." Ronica paused, but continued when Jack refused to fill the silence. He waited, barely daring to breathe. "_She's refused to come out of her room since she got here. She's stopped eating, and now she won't even take her pain meds_."

"Has she said anything?"

"_No_." The word was heavy enough that Jack suspected she knew more than she was letting on. "_She hasn't said a word_," she continued softly, "_but I think…"_

Jack ran a hand over his eyes. "Geordie."

"_Yeah. She's taking it real hard, Jack. None of us knows what to do, and the President is an inch away from putting her back in the hospital_."

The hospital would make sure she got her medication, keep her hydrated and put the right nutrients in her system. But it would be a drastic measure, one that involved such a breach in control for Sam that Jack knew it would do more harm than good in the long run.

With the entire country watching, the President would not have come to the decision lightly. Half the nation was still screaming that Sam was too young to have assumed so much of the responsibilities of the office. Some might even claim the hospitalization was a nervous breakdown long in coming, an allegation that would cause irreparable damage to Sam's future.

"I'm on my way," he said finally. He closed the phone, then wiped a hand across his jaw. _Crap. _The barracks was in lock-down for the night… He might have to get creative in getting out. But he would try the obvious way first.

He got dressed, then exited his room, edging down the hall towards the main entrance. The desk sergeant was already ready for him.

"I don't know what you got yourself into, O'Neill, but I call it downright unnatural for the base CO to give my sorry ass a call in the middle of the night to ensure that you got out of the barracks unhindered. Something about a double time was mentioned too."

Jack would've grinned, but he couldn't summon the energy. "Sorry."

"Don't be sorry. Just get the hell outta my barracks, will yah? Before that fancy-flagged car out there starts blowing its horn."

Jack obeyed, and recognized the car in question on sight. He identified the river as a tertiary member of the Bluebird's security detail, his face grim and lined with tension. Not a word was said during the ride. They were waved through the checkpoints, and then he was once more in the plush halls of the White House.

The place was disconcertingly quiet, devoid of tours and curious patriots. An aide he didn't recognize led him deeper into the building, until they reached a hallway that was veritably crowded by comparison to the others. He saw Ronica first, cleaner than he'd last seen her, but agitated. Then he saw the President, and Frankie the chef, her hands laden with a food-heavy tray.

They were hovering outside a door, which Jack deduced was Sam's. He looked to Ronica. "She in there?"

Stupid question, really. Ronica nodded, expression grim. There was something about the concern in her gaze, the stark fear and uncertainty that made a shiver of apprehension run up Jack's spine. She was scared, and Jack knew then, without a doubt, that there had been no exaggeration over the phone. The situation was bad, worse than he could have imagined.

Well… that wasn't true. He'd imagined her dead, more than once. He had yet to find out which scenario scared him more.

"You're our last ditch effort, Jack," Ronica told him softly. "This doesn't work, and it's forced admission to the hospital."

Jack took a deep breath. He nodded.

Gripping the solid brass doorknob, he twisted his wrist and opened the heavy wooden door. Then, with a swallow, he stepped inside and closed the door behind him.


	12. Chapter 12

_A/N: I'm posting early, due to both popular demand and the fact that there's supposed to be updates on the site tonight and I'm not sure that it'll all go smoothly. This place doesn't have the best track record. :)_

_Enjoy!_

* * *

Jack had never given much thought as to what Sam's bedroom might look like. He'd made a studious effort to not imagine her bedchambers, or anything therein, at all. It was safer that way, what with him being her senior and she being the First Lady and Daughter. Wondering what kind of pictures might be hanging on the walls had been the absolute last thing on his mind.

He spotted a framed periodic table hanging above her desk—a desk that was so laden with books and notes that he couldn't even see the blotter. Several tall bookshelves lined the walls, filled to the brim with journals and textbooks that were sorted by media, dimension, and relevance. No band posters, no personal pictures.

_No_, he noticed a moment later. _Correction_— no pictures but two, sitting in prominence on her bedside table. One from her USO trip last Christmas, the other a snapshot of the two of them, lit by autumn's golden light during one of their impromptu picnics.

Jack's gaze slid over the telescope at the window— wide and long and obviously high end— and was inevitably drawn to the bed that stood against the far wall. The bedclothes were rumpled, the poufy bedspread pulled entirely free to expose shiny satin sheets. The missing piece of the bed set was bunched up along the far edge of the mattress, and it was a brief moment before Jack realized it housed the target of his search.

"Sam?"

The shrouded lump of duvet squirmed, the blanket pulled tighter around its inmate. A socked foot poked out for an instant before getting pulled back into the warm sanctuary. She didn't respond.

Jack moved around the end of the bed until he was on the same side as her, and winced at his mostly-healed knee when he crouched in front of her.

Only her face was bare, cocooned in the swathes of blanket like a sleeping bag. Her eyes were red, shining with the same tears that still stained her cheeks. Her skin was pale, her cheeks hollowed by stress and weight loss.

"Sam…" Jack's hand reached out, brushing at the bangs matted to her forehead. But before he could touch her she turned her face away, pressing her cheek into the blanket pulled over her head like a hood.

"Don't touch me…" Her whisper was hoarse, as nasty as she looked. "Please…"

Jack didn't budge. "What're you doing, Sam?" he asked, bolstered by the sound of her voice, disconcerting though it was. "You've got a lot of people worried…"

She didn't answer. She didn't even look at him. Her eyes remained closed, shut tight against the low light of her lamp, and his presence in front of her.

"Sam, Ronica says you've stopped taking your meds. Is that true?" She didn't answer. He didn't expect her to. "I know you're smart enough to know how dangerous that is." She was smart enough to know, but it didn't mean she was enough in her right mind to care. Grief did funny things, sometimes.

"I know you're not trying to kill yourself," he continued on. "Because that would make you damned selfish, and if there's one thing on this planet you're not, it's that."

Bloodshot blue eyes finally lifted to his, almost surprised. But a moment later her gaze fell again.

"Geordie's dead..."

It came so soft, Jack almost missed it. But then he realized that he hadn't imagined it, and fear gripped him by the heart and started twisting. He remained quiet though, hoping she would continue to speak, now that she'd gotten started.

"Geordie's dead because of me…" she whispered, tears sliding down her nose.

"No, Sam…" He reached out again, and again she pulled away.

She closed her eyes. "You don't know…"

"Then tell me, Sam! Help me understand what's going on in there." He tentatively rested his hand on her blanketed arm, and was bolstered when she didn't push him away. "I want to help you, Sam. Please… just let me."

For a long moment, all he could hear was the clock ticking on top of her wardrobe. Watering eyes stared at him, her lips trembling, before a sob escaped her lips, soft as a hiccup. Her face crumpled as the tears came faster, and a bruised hand emerged from the cocoon to cover her eyes.

"_I killed my mom…_"

He could barely hear the words, but the heartbreak, the guilt, was unmistakable. "What?" He could barely choke out the word.

"When she was hit by that drunk driver…" Her voice cracked, the mountain of blankets shifting. "She wasn't driving that day. _I _was." Her breaths came in short hisses, her chest heaving as she fought to keep the growing hysteria at bay. "I should have been more careful! It's my fault she's dead. If I'd just gone home like she wanted, she'd still be here. But I wanted to show her something, and I turned the other way, and—"

Her chest hitched, and a sob escaped, louder and more gut-wrenching than before.

"I killed my mother! And now Geordie! I shouldn't have been in the building at all! I should have been off campus, with you. If I'd only paid more attention, he'd have gone home to his kids, and now—" She coughed the growing congestion from her chest, wincing as the force of it jarred her injuries. "Now his daughters have to grow up without a father, and…"

"Hey," he said softly. "Hey! Stop it." His voice was hard, but his touch was gentle when he reached to brush her hair away from her face. "You stop it, right now."

She stopped talking, but that only made room for the sound of her tears. She was trying not to let him see, and that only cut him deeper. He could never claim that she had told him everything—he had certainly not told her everything about himself—but he _did _know that she had never thrown up barriers against him. Distance he could accept and respect, which he had done before. But this wall she was desperately trying to erect, bricking herself in—no. He wouldn't stand for it. He couldn't.

"What happened to your mom was an accident, Sam," he said firmly, prying her hand from her face in order to meet her gaze. "A stupid, horrible accident that wasn't anyone's fault but the asshole who decided to get behind the wheel while he was drunk."

Anger coiled in his gut at that nameless, faceless murderer who had yet to answer for his actions. Who had yet to see the damage he'd caused. The fire burned hot before Jack shoved it away, forcing himself to stamp his temper down.

"Geordie knew what he was doing. He was doing his job, and he came to work knowing exactly what might happen. The quake wasn't your fault, and it wasn't your fault that the building came down while you were in it."

Her eyes clenched shut, her head shaking minutely as she tried to tune him out. She didn't want to hear, didn't want to be absolved, but Jack didn't care. "Sam—"

"Jack, please…"

"No, Sam. It's a fact. You may not think you're worth the sacrifice, but you are. Even if you weren't the President's daughter, or the unofficial First Lady, what you have to offer the world is too great for you to throw it away out of guilt. Geordie died a hero. Don't you dare cheapen that by believing it was for _nothing_."

She physically started, her body jerking as his words slammed home. _Finally._ She was silent for a heart-wrenching moment before the catharsis hit, and her body began to wrack with sobs. The hand she'd been trying to pull from his grip twisted, and he released her only for her fingers to lock with his, clinging to him like a lifeline.

"Jack, I… I can't—" She sucked in a breath, only to release it in another sob. "Jack, please…"

Her breaths came in short pants, descending into hyperventilation. Jack moved without second thought, slipping himself onto the bed behind her, spooning her against him gingerly, mindful of her injuries. He carefully levered her upright, holding her in a gentle embrace.

"Breathe with me," he urged, his voice low and level. "In and out. In… and out…"

It took longer than he'd have preferred, but eventually she'd calmed, slumping against his hold in a heavy exhaustion. The hitch in her chest remained, evident of the tears still lurking beneath the surface.

"You shouldn't be here," she murmured. "You'll only get hurt too…"

"Good." His response came quickly, and from the sudden tension in her frame he knew he'd surprised her. "Because leaving right now would outright kill me." He pressed a kiss to her head. "Don't ask me to do that, Sam. Because I won't."

She started shaking, her breath thickening in her chest. "Jack… I don't—I can't remember… I remember you being there, but I don't know… What if he'd said something? How long was he dying and I didn't even realize...?"

Jack rested his chin against her head_. God._ It must have weighed on her for days… ever since they'd told her Geordie's fate, she must have put the pieces together and known what had happened in spite of her lacking memories. She'd been wondering ever since, the not knowing tearing her apart from the inside out as the guilt threatened to drown her. Somehow, she trusted him to hear her when she'd hidden even from her father.

"Sam," he said finally. "That kind of injury… Death is instantaneous. Geordie wouldn't have felt anything." He squeezed her gently. "And I can guarantee that his only thoughts were of you—and that if anyone could ask him now… he would have no regrets."

A short sob escaped her, but just the one. "_Jack…_"

"He loved you, Sam. Don't throw away his sacrifice by grieving to death." He paused. "And his girls… they'll miss him, yeah. But when the world sees all the amazing things you're gonna do, those kids and their mother will know that it was made possible by what Geordie did."

Silence fell then, and Jack let it. Her trembling slowly eased until it was just the occasional shiver. It was a long time before Jack realized that the shivers were repeated returns to consciousness. Her exhaustion was catching up to her, and she was drifting off in his arms. Her incredible force of will was the only thing that kept pulling her back into wakefulness.

"How long's it been since you last slept?" he asked gently.

"Dunno," she murmured. "Don't 'member."

"Rest now," he urged. "I'm here."

Amid the layers of blanket, a hand curled around his. "Don' wanna lose you…"

Jack pulled in a breath, feeling the shards his life had become fall back into place. For the first time since the earthquake, he was whole again. He wasn't going anywhere.

* * *

Jack didn't realize he'd dozed off as well until he heard the door swing open. Ronica's familiar presence crossed into his line of vision, and knelt to reveal a mask of concern and relief creasing her features.

Her eyes took Sam's state, where she laid in his arms, but said nothing. She met Jack's gaze then, an ocean of gratitude shining back at him.

"For the pain," she mouthed, barely a whisper on her lips. She held up an orange pill bottle to show him before setting it on the bedside table. She lifted a second into his sight. "For any infection. She needs both, as soon as she's awake." It joined its mate on the table.

Her eyes regarded the two of them—one sleeping, the other bleary-eyed and gentle. Jack nodded his understanding, careful to not let the motion jostle Sam.

Frankie edged in behind Ronica, bequeathing the tray of food to the table as well. Jack noticed almost a half-dozen bottles of water. "She needs the fluids," the chef explained. "Get her to eat as much as you can, but the water's the most important."

When Jack nodded again, the women left, trying to hide the tears threatening to spill. Jack dozed off again, lulled into sleep by the warmth and Sam's steady breathing.

Sometime later, he woke to a shifting in his arms. He blinked twice, then felt the tension beneath the blankets, the muted spasms that wracked her body as she fought to remain silent.

"Sam?" He lifted his head, but from his current angle could only study the top of her head. "What's wrong?"

"N-nothing."

His eyes narrowed. She was lying, that much was obvious. For all her skills, duplicity wasn't one of them. His gaze caught on the two pill bottles, and Jack realized what she was trying to hide. She was in pain, and she didn't want to admit it. Or do anything about it, most likely.

Wordlessly, he disentangled himself from around her, and moved around the end of the bed to kneel in front of her. One look at her flushed features and the pills were forgotten as he pressed a hand to her forehead.

"You're too warm," he told her, and she closed her eyes. "Come on, let's get some of this stuff off."

She gripped the blankets petulantly. "'m cold."

"You have a fever," he returned swiftly. It was low grade, probably her body's reaction to the pain she'd refused to treat, but he didn't want to give it the chance to become more serious. "Which means you're gonna sit up, drink some water, and take your pills. Ah!" he cut her off with a sharp bark of sound. "No back talk. All things considered, I'd really prefer to not resort to whacking some sense into you."

He almost saw a smile in her eyes, though her features remained placid. After a long moment, she started to move, struggling to get herself upright. Jack helped her, taking most of her weight until she was sitting on the edge of the bed, her feet skimming the carpet. The blankets fell away and Jack's eyes widened.

"Jesus, Sam…"

Without the shrouded protection of the duvet, the evidence of her ordeal was profoundly evident. A dark bruise spanned the curve of her neck, reaching from the bottom edge her hairline to dip below her collar. Her right arm was stiffly bandaged at a 90-degree angle, supported by a sling that pinned it close to her chest. She held herself stiffly erect, like her ribs—several of them—had been cracked. And among her assorted scrapes and bruises, her lack of sleep was stamped beneath her eyes like two big shiners.

"Looks worse than it is," she said, her voice low.

Jack leveled a look of pure skepticism her way. "Remember I was there that day, Sam. I'm inclined to believe the opposite." He sighed. "You're lucky to be alive."

A beat. "Luck had nothing to do with it."

Her voice shook, and Jack kicked himself for opening that can of worms again. But by the time he had busied himself with gathering up her pills, she had pulled herself together, her cheeks dry despite the sparkle of tears in her eyes.

"Here," he said, handing her the pills.

She took them, hesitating, but when she caught sight of his expectant gaze, she poured them into her mouth and swallowed them with a swig of water from the bottle he supplied. She winced as they went down, then sat, silently, eyes closed.

Jack crouched, unsure of how to proceed. He saw the food that sat waiting and decided to give it a shot.

"Frankie's left some…" She was already shaking her head. He sighed. "_Sam…"_

"Not hungry." From her strained tone, Jack believed her. She looked like she might start heaving at any moment.

"At least have a few saltines, okay?" When that didn't work, he pulled out the big guns. "For me?"

Blue eyes peeked out at him from beneath red-rimmed lids. He put on his best puppy dog eyes, and was rewarded with the sight of her grief receding for just an instant. But then it was back full force, and she looked down at the floor.

"You remind me of… someone." Her voice was hoarse, her gaze low. It broke his heart.

"Your mom?"

A single nod. "When I was a kid, I—people always said I was too serious. I read a lot, and as I moved through school my age kept me from making many friends. But my mom… She used to give me that look too. When I was being stubborn and got too caught up in something to relax and be a kid. But when she gave me that look, it stopped being about me needing to do something normal. It wasn't about my projects not being important or what anyone else thought. That look made it about spending time with her, not getting me to act immature." She paused, her eyes darkening. Her throat worked as she swallowed against a dry throat, her jaw hardening. "No one's really taken care of me like this since…"

"Let me guess," Jack supplied. "You were the one trying to hold everyone else together."

A mirthless huff of a laugh answered him. "Great job I did of that, huh?"

"Some people just don't want to be helped, Sam."

She shrugged, looking up at him with big eyes. "What about you?"

He paused. Then, "To tell you the truth, Sam… I wish like hell I'd had you when my pa died." Her eyes widened, and it looked almost like she wasn't breathing. "It wasn't anything like your mom," he told her swiftly. "The bastard drank himself to death, and good riddance."

The tension left her, but a sympathy was left behind in her gaze that made a familiar irritation creep up Jack's neck. He shoved it away, determined to keep this _not_ about him.

"It was a bad time for me… I know having you around would have made things a lot easier." He offered a crooked grin. "But I'll settle for having you the rest of my life."

Their eyes met and held for a long moment, and neither could hear anything but their own heartbeats. Sam broke contact first, her gaze falling to her knees. Jack looked elsewhere as well, his neck starting to burn with embarrassment. He hadn't meant to say it like that.

But he wasn't going to take it back, either.

A sigh escaped him, and his features settled into something resembling resolution. "I should probably go… just for a little bit," he added when blue eyes flew up to his. "You know, give Ronica a chance to look you over. She must be out of her mind by now…"

Sam swallowed, her chin ducking to hide her eyes once more. "Yeah…" she ground out.

Jack moved to get up, but paused, instead letting his hands rest on her knees. "Sam…" She looked at him, her cheeks flushed and eyes uncertain. "Don't be ashamed. Ever. I know it'll take time, but the pain will get easier, and I—I don't want you to regret telling me…"

"Don't tell my dad that you know about my mom," she pleaded. "Please… No one knows I was in the car that day. He didn't want anyone finding out—"

Jack bit back a curse.

As a member of the Air Force, he was required to respect the President as his Commander-in-Chief. But how could he feel anything but contempt? The man had tried to manipulate him, but he didn't care about that. What he did care about was the weight of the world on a young girl's shoulders, a girl who had done nothing but give in all the time that he'd known her.

As far as Jack could see, Jacob Carter had denied her every chance to find peace. He'd foisted a psychopath onto his daughter, and failed to bring the bastard to justice. He'd covered up an accident, and turned it into something to be ashamed of… a crime of omission that had never come to light until now. And, most grievous of all, he'd let her throw away her dreams, all for the sake of his career.

That, to Jack, was unforgivable.

Especially now, when he was faced with a teary-eyed Sam— alone except for the one person who thought of her, and her only. Him.

"All right," he said softly, reaching out to take her unsplinted hand. "I won't say anything. But I won't lie, either."

She nodded her understanding, relief stealing across her features. She relaxed marginally, only to shift into a grimace as the release of tension made her ribs ache. Jack squeezed her hand reassuringly.

"The meds'll kick in soon," he told. "They gave you the good stuff."

She didn't respond, which Jack took as his cue to leave. But when he moved to retrieve his hand, her grip tightened. "…will you come back?"

He smiled, massaging her fingers. "Of course," he chided softly. "When are you going to learn to stop doubting me?"

He meant it lightly, but it had the opposite effect. Tears spilled down her cheeks as she blinked, and she coughed to cover the soft sob that escaped. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I don't know why I'm acting this way…"

She dropped his hand, but this time he was the one who refused to let go. "I do." He met her eyes when they lifted to his. "You're hurting, and you're still exhausted. And it's been too long since you've let anyone care for you." He grinned. "It's a good thing I'm up for the challenge, huh?"

"You shouldn't—"

"Ah!" He cut her off. "Enough of that. You're stuck with me, Carter. Whether you like it or not, _capeesh_?"

A beat. And then, "Even if I don't deserve you?"

Jack breathed. Then, he leaned down, letting his lips brush against her ear in a feathery kiss. "Especially then."

She turned into him, their skin meeting as her arm lifted to wrap itself around his neck. He hugged her in return, happy to feel the last of the remaining tension bleed away. "Thank you," she mumbled into his neck. "For being here for me."

_No, Sam. Thank you_.

"Always."


	13. Chapter 13

_A/N: Woohoo! Final chapter!_

_Now, before we freak out, I've officially decided to turn this into a series. I've set it up perfectly for our intrepid couple to spend some in Colorado- which we know is a state of significance. Hopefully, you'll understand how I'm intending to eventually bring everything full circle.  
_

_At this point, I can't say with any sort of certainty when the next installment of the series will be up and running. I've got story 1 complete, and story 3 percolating, but the bridge (story 2) is confounding me. But we shall prevail, never fear. You'll just have to be patient with me.  
_

_In the meantime, enjoy this last chapter, and maybe I'll be able to throw up an S/J one shot or two in the meantime to keep my muse active. :D  
_

_Thank you so much for the feedback! It's been a pleasure to work with all of you on this!  
_

* * *

Three weeks later, Sam was well enough to go back on campus. It was long enough for the damage to be patched, the grounds cleared of debris. But come graduation day, Jack was acutely aware of the gaping hole where the science building used to sit, for all it had received a hasty layering of sod to try and keep up appearances. He knew Sam felt the same way.

It was in the way she avoided the area, going the long away around to reach the large quad the ceremony was being held in. It was there in her eyes as she listened to the professors speak, emphasizing the value of progress and innovation, of creation in the face of destruction. With the sun hot against Jack's neck as he stood in the back of the audience, he wasn't sure how the rest of the class received the speeches—but he could see the rigid posture of Sam's shoulders beneath the dark swathes of robe.

She was the most colorful grad in the ceremony. Not a huge feat, considering how small the class was compared to Jack's own graduation, but he was still more than impressed. She bore the thin, twisted blue and gold cord, for excellence in community service. A green braided cord denoted her prodigious scientific contributions, and the merging red and gold cords singled her out from the entire class. She was valedictorian.

The crowd clapped as she was welcomed to the podium, though her peers seemed largely unenthused. From their expressions, they clearly had other places they'd rather be.

"There are forty-seven of us graduating," Sam stated boldly, her voice echoing across the quad. Her eyes raked the crowd, and the strength of her delivery brought straying gazes back to the stage.

"We are the best Washington has to offer," she continued, "but the truth is, that doesn't mean much. We will still be going off to college this fall, which means that we are big fish from a small pond who are about to become goldfish in a very big ocean."

She paused, and no one said anything. But they were listening. She'd woken up her classmates, who'd been ready to hear the requisite "Let's Party!" anthem of previous grads. This was different, and they were listening.

"As we go our separate ways, my message to each of you is this: You are not unique, in and of yourselves. Remember that your future is up to you—it will not be handed to you, and you will not receive it. _You_ have to make it happen, using the skills and lessons you learned here."

Overhead a bird sang, its voice a melodious counterpoint to the somber speech below. Jack shifted his stance, his eyes half-closed against the bright sun.

"No man is an island. In the recent weeks, I have come to realize how true this is. There is no President without a nation. There is no child without a parent, no student without a teacher—no future without a past. We are the sum of our experiences, and how we use those experiences relies entirely on how we've been shaped by others in our lives. Even as we move on to the next stage in our lives, with some of us going very far from home to do it, we carry our people with us, in our hearts and in our memories."

Sam swallowed, her gaze falling to the microphone. Jack's eyes burned, his back suddenly ramrod straight. Were her thoughts caught on that expanse of fresh turf, as his were? That deceptively bright green grass that tried to hide the life that had been lost there?

"So while we are here to today to celebrate our own achievements," Sam continued, her gaze spanning the family and friends lingering beyond the seated students, "we are not alone. We must also thank them, our friends and our families, for helping us become who we are, and who we may yet be."

A long moment of silence passed, and then, somewhere, someone started clapping. It spread slowly, but grew thunderous as the students rose to their feet, turning to applaud the people who had gotten them this far. Sam joined in, stepping back from the microphone in an effective conclusion to her speech.

Jack spotted several watery smiles in the audience, the tiny little waves as suddenly sheepish parents acknowledged their respective children. He knew the President was somewhere in the front—it would hardly be PR-friendly for him to have missed his youngest child's graduation. But Jack couldn't help but notice that Sam's gaze hadn't been anywhere near that front row as she spoke.

The master of ceremonies took over as Sam returned to her seat. She was moving fairly well now, despite the cast that still braced her arm, but Jack could see the slight hesitancy in her step that spoke to the lingering soreness. After that, the ceremony moved quickly, as one by one the students were called up to the stage. There were a few extra camera flashes when Sam shook hands with the headmaster, and Jack gave a low, piercing whistle as she crossed, and was rewarded with a blushing smile.

Then caps were flying, and the students were officially released to their families and guests. Jack moved without hesitation, weaving his way through the crowd to find Sam. She was already moving towards him as well, her features beaming with the first real smile she'd had in weeks. In a few swift steps he closed the distance between them, sweeping her up into a hug that lifted her from the ground. A rush of warmth flowed through him when he felt her laugh against him.

"Congratulations," he murmured. "You were great up there."

Her arms tightened around his shoulders. "Thanks. But Christmas still remains my favorite speech. Hard to top an audience like that."

Jack nodded. "You still rocked it, though." He paused, hesitating. "You're Dad's here," he said carefully.

"I know," she said, shrugging. "There's going to be a photo op and press release later."

"Oh, yeah," he said, his tone light. "You still need to announce your college choice, right?" Yeah… like he'd actually forgotten. He'd just been too chicken to ask her, afraid of what the answer would be. The number of foreign schools who'd invited her to study with them had cast a dour gloom over the whole thing. "Don't you wanna go ahead and get it over with?"

The smirk on her lips told him exactly how much he was fooling her—which was not at all. "No," she chirped happily. "I want to tell you first."

Jack paused, then pulled in a deep breath. Then, with an intense solemnity that was only half-theatric, he stepped back, putting enough distance between them for him to look her in the eye. And for her to not be able to feel his disappointment at her answer.

"All right," he delivered. "Lay it on me."

She giggled.

"Oxford? Or Princeton. Wait—let me guess… Georgetown, right? I bet—"

"Denver."

Jack nodded. "Ah, see, just like I—wait, what?"

Her eyes twinkled. "University of Denver. Full ride."

"Buh…But—" His mouth worked, gaping in surprise as he did the math in his head. "Denver is…"

"Only an hour and a half from the Academy. Yeah, I know." The woman looked down right smug. "I have to say, that was almost as much of a draw as their Physics and Astronomy department."

"Almost?"

"They have _really_ big telescopes…"She broke off into a laugh when he caught her up again, this time spinning her as grin split is face near in two. He kissed her, squeezing her tight enough for her to smack his arm in warning.

Then, finally, he set her down again, his better sense catching up with him. "Are you sure about this, Sam? You could have the whole world…"

"Haven't you heard, Jack? My world's moving to Colorado in the fall."

Jack blinked, astounded. "But, your duties…"

"There'll be a lot of travel, yes," she told him. "But I'm ready to step down if necessary." She grinned, her cheeks flushing. "Someone's been teaching me how to make decisions that are right for me, even if it seems like an inconvenience."

His heart felt like it was about to beat right out of his chest. "This is a big decision…"

"Maybe. But not a hard one. Besides, I'm already half way done. Two more years and then I'll be looking at grad schools." Her hand found his, taking it gently. Tenderly. Tingles shot up and down his arm at the touch. "I can see the stars anywhere on Earth, Jack. But I _want_ to see them with you."

Doubt flooded his mind. Long-distance relationships could be rough, he knew, even if the distance was only an hour and a half, not three or four thousand miles. But he also knew that her decision could sour. She could come to resent him, for being the reason she missed out on some amazing opportunity elsewhere. That she hadn't gone to study with the greatest minds academia had to offer.

And he would never forgive himself if he was the reason she tempered her dreams, just to stay local while he earned his commission.

Before he could open his mouth to protest, small hands settled against his face, framing his jaw in a grip that was both gentle and firm. "Jack. Look at me."

He obeyed, and was nearly swept away.

"Can you look into my eyes, and tell you _don't _see a future with me?"

Blue eyes gripped him, even as his throat locked, suddenly packed with cotton. He only just became old enough to drink last week—she, for all her maturity, wasn't even eighteen yet. How could he possibly think about forever? And yet, in looking into her eyes, he could tell that she felt the same thing he did… that looking ahead was to look at her. _Them._

"Geez, Sam…"

"Answer me." Her tone was soft, but unyielding.

He smiled. "No."

"Me neither." She kissed him lightly, the contact brief on his lips. "And I know we're not really supposed to think about forever when we're this young…"

No, they weren't. It was a misgiven hesitation that lingered in the back of Jack's thoughts. What happened when she came into her own as a woman? When she realized she could have anything, or any_one_, in the world?

"Which is why we aren't," she continued decisively. Jack blinked.

"What do you mean?"

"We aren't thinking about forever. We're only thinking about the next two years. Well, I am, at least for now. You're thinking about the next four years, until you graduate with your commission. I'm only thinking to the end of my degree… and maybe my doctoral work, though that's not set in stone yet."

Jack swallowed thickly. Two years, huh? He could do that. That, and a dozen decades more. That'd give him more time to pretend he hadn't already been thinking about buying a ring. He could at least wait until he was an officer, right? Right.

She'd still be there.

"I love you." His arms laced themselves around her waist, pulling her close to him.

Her eyes sparkled, her excitement evident as he simply and smoothly accepted her decision. Welcomed it, even. "I love you, too."

Warmth spread through him, an unspoken uneasiness falling away from him. Her decision had said more than she'd intended. Or at least, more than she realized. He was not the only one who felt like an old soul, it seemed. There was a measure of peace in knowing she was daring to think of their future as well.

Suddenly, Jack froze.

"What is it?" she asked.

He swallowed. "I don't suppose you've already told your dad?"

Her grin turned devilish. "Nope. He finds out with the rest of the world in about ten minutes."

Jack nodded. "Right. That should give me just enough time for me to reach an appropriate safe distance." He certainly didn't want to be there when the President found out his genius daughter turned down offers from world-class institutions just to follow his sorry ass to Colorado.

She hummed a laugh, nudging him playfully. "Go on. I won't make you stick around."

"We still on for pizza tonight?"

A nod answered him. "Tony's?"

"Sure." Her lips spread into a sly grin. "What?" he asked, curious.

She smiled. "It's Thursday."

Jack blinked, memories of a certain Live Music Thursday spinning across his thoughts. Flashes of Sam in a burgundy dress and silvery earrings flashed in front of his eyes, but was eclipsed by the image still smiling up at him. Somehow, she was even more beautiful now than she was that night.

He smirked back. "I happen to like Thursdays."

"Me too."

A voice shouted her name, calling her over for pictures. Sam hesitated, then released his hand. "I have to go. I'll meet you there. Usual time."

He nodded, and she turned to leave. But before she had gotten two steps, he called out to her, closing the distance between them once more as she turned in question. He kissed her again, pulling her as close as he dared with so many eyes on them.

"I am so lucky to have you," he whispered against her lips, which smiled under the soft words.

"We could spend all night arguing over who's luckier," she returned. "But I'll settle for blessed."

"I'm proud of you." He had no idea if she would hear those words from anyone else tonight, but even if he was the only one they came from, her smile told him that would be enough.

Her forehead rested against his, her chin tilting up to kiss him again. "Today is the first day of the rest of our life, Jack."

His eyebrows lifted. _Our life._ He liked the sound of that. And he knew, somehow, that it hadn't been a slip of the tongue. Sam pulled back, giving him a little squeeze she did so. Her eyes were bright, and then came that megawatt smile that always made his heart skip a beat.

"I can't wait."


End file.
